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Granite State Magazine 

An Illustrated Monthly Devoted to the His- 

tory, Story, Scenery, Industry and 

Interest of New Hampshire 


January to" June, 1907 

Manchester, n. h. 



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ContentS===^ol. Ill 


Abend-lied (Poem). Harold D. Carew . 231 

Abbott, Martha H, The Penacook's Farewell (Poem) 68 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. An Old Town by the Sea 201, 249 

American Veterans. Otis G. Hammond 117 

Baldwin, Maurice. Reminiscences of New London and Colby 

Academy 153 

Beauty (Poem). Carroll Raymond 174 

Before the Storm (Poem). Adah Louise Sutton 246 

Boy of '76, A. Victor St. Clair 64 

Braddock, Emily A (Poem). Forever and Aye 87 

Brave Commodore, The (Poem). J.C.N 264 

Broken (Poem). Edith L. Niles 183 

Browne, George Waldo. Rogers' Scout at Lake George 13 

The Viking's Love Song (Poem) 23 

The Shadows Men Follow 25, 76, 129, 175, 222, 269 

Pioneers of "Popular Literature" 49, 109 

Pleasant Pond (Poem) 88 

The Snowy Albino 195 

Brownell, Winsor. The End of the World 167 

Butterworth, Hezekiah. The Village Mystery 121 

Carew, Harold D, Abend-lied (Poem) 231 

Veritas (Poem) 98 

Chalmers, Rev. Thomas. Congregational Churches in New Hamp- 
shire 57 

City in the Sea, The (Poem). Thomas C. Harbaugh 128 

Colby, Fred Myron. The Old Farm-House on the Hill (Poem). . 15 

Concord. Editor 147 

Congregational Churches in New Hampshire. Rev. Thomas Chal- 
mers 57 

Crafts, David. General Sullivan and His Officers 265 

Cross, Allen Eastman. New Hampshire Forests (Poem) 240 

Death of Arnold, The (Poem). Thomas C. Harbaugh 11 



Editor. Concord 147 

Edwin Snow 229 

Manchester 149 

Nashua 151 

Editor's Window, The 47, 184, 277 

End of the World. Winsor Brownell 167 

Familiar Scene in New Hampshire. George B. Griffith 56 

Famous Boys 247 

Father of American Artillery, The. Mary L. D. Ferris 263 

Ferris, Mary L. D. A Few Things We Owe to the Chinese 214 

The Father of American Artillery 263 

Few Things We Owe to the Chinese, A. Mary L. D Ferris 214 

First Glass Making in America. Charles B. Heald 17 

Forever and Aye (Poem). Emily A, Braddock 87 

General Sullivan and His Officers. David Crafts 265 

Granite State Rooftrees: 

Gen. James Miller and His Temple Home. Charles B. Heald.. 99 

Varney-Ham House, The. Lydia A. Stevens 233 

Griffith, G. B. A Lesson for Boys 22 

Familiar Scene in New Hampshire (Poem) 56 

Twilight (Poem) 75 

Hammond, Otis G. American Veterans 117 

Harbaugh, Thomas C, The City in the Sea (Poem) 128 

The Death of Arnold (Poem) 11 

The Swords of Grant and Lee (Poem) 213 

Heald, Charles B. First Glass Making in America 17 

Gen. James Miller and His Temple Home 99 

Hurlin, Rev. William. The Pioneers of Antrim 137 

Historic Fort, An 232 

Labor (Poem). Francis S. Osgood 194 

Lesson for Boys, A. G.B.Griffith 22 

Life and Character of Ruel Durkee. A Staff Contributor 1 

Literary Leaves 281 

Manchester. Editor 149 

Matthews, James N. The Soldier of Castile (Poem) 107 

Merrimack as a Maritime Way, The. A Staff Contributor 215 

Nashua, Editor 151 

New Hampshire Forests (Poem). Allen Eastman Cross 240 



Nestor of the Farms, The. Oldtime Sketches 71 

Niles, Edith L. Broken (Poem) 183 

Nondescript (G. W. B.). Our Fathers of Old (Poem) 143 

Old Farm House on the Hill (Poem). Fred Myron Colby 15 

Oldtime Sketches. The Nestor of the Farms 71 

Old Town by the Sea, An. Thomas Bailey Aldrich 201, 249 

Origin of the Arbutus, The (Poem). Frederic Allison Tupper 163 

Osgood, Anson G. To the Winter Sun (Poem) 45 

Francis S. Labor (Poem) 194 

Our Fathers of Old (Poem). Nondescript (G. W. B.) 143 

Outward Bound (Poem). Nettie Vernon : 248 

Oyster River, Now Durham, N. H., in 1724. Lucien Thompson. .. . 241 

Paddock, J. R. Roaring Brook (Poem) 198 

Penacook's Farewell to Lake Sunapee (Poem). Martha H. Abbott 68 

Pioneers of Antrim. Rev. William Hurlin 137 

Pioneers of "Popular Literature." George Waldo Browne 49, 109 

Pleasant Pond (Poem). George Waldo Browne 88 

1907 (Poem). L. Direxa Stearns * 63 

Raymond, Carroll. Beauty (Poem) 174 

Reminiscences of New London and Colby Acandmy. Maurice 

Baldwin 153 

Reminiscences of Whittier. J. Warren Thyng 89, 185 

Revolutionary Inn Gone 231 

Roaring Brook (Poem). J. R. Paddock 198 

Rogers' Scout at Lake George. George Waldo Browne 13 

St. Clair, Victor. A Boy of ! 76 64 

Shadows Men Follow, The. George Waldo Browne 25, 76, 129 

175, 222, 269 

Snow, Edwin. Editor 229 

Snowy Albino, The. George Waldo Browne 195 

Soldier of Castile, The (Poem). James Newton Matthews 107 

Staff Contributor, A. Life and Character of Ruel Durkee 1 

The Merrimack as a Maritime Way 215 

Stearns, L. Direxa. 1907 (Poem) 63 

Stevens, Lydia A. The Varney-Ham House 233 

Sutton, Adah Louise. Before the Storm (Poem) 246 

Swords of Grant and Lee, The (Poem). Thomas C. Harbaugh 213 

Thompson, Lucien. Oyster River, Now Durham, N. H., in 1724. . 241 

Thyng, J. Warren. Reminiscences of Whittier 89, 185 

To the Winter Sun (Poem). Anson G. Osgood 45 



Tupper, Frederic Allison. The Origin of the Arbutus (Poem) 163 

Twilight (Poem). George B. Griffith 75 

Varney-Ham House, The. Lydia A. Stevens 233 

Veritas (Poem). Harold D. Carew 98 

Vernon, Nettie. Outward Bound (Poem) 248 

Viking's Love Song (Poem). George Waldo Browne 23 

Village Mystery, The, Hezekiah Butterworth 121 

Waterman, Nixon. The Weaker Sex (Poem) 166 

Weaker Sex, The (Poem). Nixon Waterman 166 

Utet of Uttustrattons 


Amoskeag Falls. Photograph by F. K. Hazen Opp 144 

Antrim, First Meeting House Opp 137 

Baker, George W. Stark Fort Frontispiece 

Beadle, Erastus F. Portrait Ill 

Bearcamp River House. Drawn by Clinton H. Cheney 97 

Cheney, Clinton H. Bearcamp River House 97 

Oak Knoll, Danvers 193 

The Tavern Stood Near 91 

Whittier Pine 190 

Chocorua from the Saco. Drawn by J. Warren Thyng 186 

Cobb, Sylvanus, J r. Portrait Opp 52 

Colby Academy. Opp 153 

Concord in 1855 146 

Cooper, J . Fenimore. Portrait 110 

Currier, Thomas. Portrait Opp 49 

Durkee Homestead, The Opp 1 

Ruel. Portrait Opp 1 

Mrs. Ruel. Portrait Opp 1 

Ellis, Edward S. Portrait 112 

First Glais Bottle Blown in America Opp 20 

First Printing Office, Portsmouth 205 

Forester, The Opp. 143 



Franconia Mountain and Pemigewasset River. Drawn by J. War- 
ren Tbyng 188 

Gleason, Frederic. Portrait 110 

Judson, Col. E. Z. C. Portrait Ill 

Lake Sunapee 156 

Winnipesaukee and Mount Belknap. Drawn by J. Warren 

Thyng Opp 192 

Lottery Ticket Opp 20 

Manchester in 1855 148 

Market Street, Portsmouth 208 

Memory of Turkey Street. Drawn by j. Warren Thyng 90 

Meserve, Colonel Arthur L. Portrait Opp 49 

Miller Homestead 101 

Gen. James. Portrait Opp 105 

Nashua in 1855 150 

Oak Knoll, Danvers. Drawn by Clinton H. Cheney 193 

Old Marblehead. Drawn by J. Warren Thyng Opp. 185 

Old Willow, Temple, N. H 103 

Pepperell House 204 

Pleasant Pond Opp 56 

Poore, Ben: Perley. Portrait : 112 

Portsmouth in 1855 Opp 201 

Princess of Odin Opp 24 

Ruins of the First Glass Manufactory Opp 17 

St. John's Church, Portsmouth 208 

Snow, Edwin. Portrait Opp 229 

Snowy Albino 195 

Stark Fort Frontispiece 

Sunapee Forest Road 160 

Tavern Stood Near. Drawn by Clinton H. Cheney 91 

Temple Green Memorials 105 

Mountains Opp 17 

Thyvg, J. Warren, Chocorua from the Saco 186 

Franconia Mountain and Pemigewasset River 188 

Lake Winnipesaukee and Mount Belknap Opp 192 

Memory of Turkey Street . . ^ 90 

Old Marblehead Opp 185 

Stark Fort Frontispiece 

Whittier's Favorite View of Mount Chocorua Opp 89 



Varney-Ham House, The Opp 233 

Warner House 253 

Wentworth House 256 

Whittier, John G. Portrait Opp 97 

Whittier's Little Friend Mabelle 192 

Whittier's Favorite View of Mount Chocorua. Drawn by J. War- 
ren Thyng Opp SO 

Whittier Pine. Drawn by Clinton H. Cheney 190 

Winter Scene. Drawn by Henry W. Herrick Opp 72 



VOL. III. JANUARY, 1907. NO. 1 





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Granite State 









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LIFE OF RUEL DURKEE . . A Stuff Contributor (A 


DEATH OF ARNOLD (Poem) . . T. C. Harbaugh 


Geo. TTa/do Browne QJL 


-< SHADOWS MEN FOLLOAT (Serial) . G. W-Broiune Jj 


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Granite ^tate H§aga?me 

Vol. III. JANUARY, 1907. No. 1. 

Htfe ano Character of ftuel durkee 

By A Staff Contributor 

y^s^HERE is scarcely a town, I might say a district, in 
' ^f . the Old Granite State which at one time or 
another has not produced a character that has 
stood out lone and representative of some particular 
element of manhood, rugged and aggressive. When these 
different persons are compared and their personalities ana- 
lyzed it is found that they possess at least one trait com- 
mon to all — an underlying honesty of purpose. Rough as 
the bark of the hickory may be, the wood beneath is firm, 
solid and reliable. These marked types of men are almost 
universally of English descent. Few of them are of great 
intellectuality, the majority of them live and die in narrow 
spheres of action. They make strong friendships ; they 
incur bitter enmities. It could not be otherwise without 
casting their characters in different molds. 

Among those of this class stands out the sturdy figure 
of Ruel Durkee, the Sage of Croydon. The meaning of 
his title may not indicate that he was a philosopher ; it does 
not require great mental capacity to count as a sage where 
sages count most. The same truth applies to men greater 
than he. As with nearly all leaders we must look to the 
mother for the origin of those traits which made him con- 

The mother of Ruel Durkee was Polly Whipple, a 
lineal descendant of Matthew Whipple, who came over to 


this country in a goodly company, making up the passen- 
gers of the ship "Increase," 1635, and who was among the 
pioneers of Ipswich, Mass. Moses Whipple, of the fifth 
generation from this rugged ancestor, helped to break, as 
early as 1766, the wilderness of Croydon, N. H. He was 
an influential man in his day, an ardent patriot when the 
colonies felt it imperative to preserve to themselves their 
rights as freemen. He served on the Committee of Safety 
with ability ; was at Ticonderoga when it fell into the hands of 
the Americans, and was in command of a company of troops 
in the battle which resulted in the surrender of the flower of 
the British army under the chivalrous Burgoyne. The war 
over he "received the commission of Colonel of the Fifteenth 
Militia and, a natural leader of men, he held various posi- 
tions of trust and honor in town. He removed to Charles- 
town in 1809, dying five years later at the age of sixty-one 

His oldest son, Thomas, had a daughter named Polly, 
who married Rufus Durkee, an odd, eccentric character, a 
tanner who did quite a business. He was a person of more 
than ordinary ability, but of peculiar traits that were 
repeated to a more or less extent in his son. Ruel, the 
only child of this union, was born in Croydon, July 14, 
1809. He lived and died in the house which is still stand- 
ing, a rather cheerless country farmhouse, unpainted like 
its erstwhile owner without ornament of figure and plain 
and substantial. , No friendly tree uplifted its protecting 
arm, and yet this was not an unhappy home. Rather, it 
afforded within its walls a genial hospitality and its door 
was open to the needy. While it did not suggest amazing 
thrift, it said to the world, "Here lives a rugged yeoman." 

The advantages of schooling to this boy were not as 
good as usually fell to the lot of farmers' sons. He 
assisted his father about the tannery, helped on the farm, 
and improved his odd days in attending the district school. 
There is nothing to prove that he was an apt scholar, but 
his whole life goes to show that his education consisted 


principally of observation, and that his teacher was Nature. 
In summing up the characters of his associates and analyz- 
ing their capacities he was an accurate mathematician and 
unfailing grammarian. In addition to these qualities he 
swayed men by his iron will, by the gesture of his hand, 
the intonation of his tongue, the expression of his eye. 
He possessed these attributes without an apparent knowl- 
edge of the fact, which was a portion of his success. 

In speech he was a man of few words, and yet at times 
he showed that he was capable of making more use of these 
than the majority would of an hour's discourse. His was 
the eloquence of silent force. Frequently he prefaced his 
remarks with the sound of the letter "a," as pronounced in 
"far." He was not a profane man, and yet he emphasized 
his statements with an adjective which, falling from the lips 
of another, would be construed into an oath, but coming 
from him carried a telling influence. Rum he abjured 
and tobacco he abhorred. Cigars he described as- "a brand 
with fire at one end and a-a damn fool at the other." 

At the age of twenty-eight, on May 3, 1835, Ruel 
was married to Polly Barton, who never wavered in her 
faith and fidelity toward her strong-minded husband. As 
an apt example of his peculiar humor and character, it is 
related of their courtship and marriage : 

She was at work at his father's house when the parish 
minister called at the home. From a neighboring field 
young Ruel, seeing the horse at the hitching-post, immedi- 
ately strode toward the dwelling. Asking for Polly, he was 
told that she was in the garret spinning, and thither he 
made his way. Finding her he exclaimed in his brusque 
yet commanding way : "A-a, Priest Haven's down-stairs. 

[A, as well as being the first letter in the alphabets of most of the 
languages, represents the primary sound of the human organs of speech. 
It was natural that this man — a diamond in the rough — uneducated, 
unpolished, and living close to nature, should begin life with this sound 
and open every important but terse sentence of his utterance with the 
articulation "A-a!"— Author.'] 


Time for us to many, Polly." Taken aback by this unex- 
pected declaration, though she had looked forward to the 
day when she might become his bride, she demurred, ex- 
plaining that she was not dressed for such an occasion. 
Seeing, however, his determination and knowing his will 
brooked no opposition, she asked for time to put on a more 
suitable dress and a pair of shoes. "A-a, I can't wait, 
Polly. Minister in the house ! A-a, go right down now, 
if you marry me at all." So Polly was married in her bare 
feet and calico dress. Over fifty years of wedded life 
proved the wisdom of her choice. 

Immediately after their marriage this worthy couple 
settled upon the Durkee homestead as plain representatives 
of an honorable, if humble, calling. He interested him- 
self as a young man in local affairs, and in 1842 was 
elected selectman. He served upon this board of town 
officers for thirty-three years, all but two of them as chair- 
man. He was treasurer of the town for twenty-eight 
years. Mr. Durkee was a Free Soil Democrat, and repre- 
sented Croydon in the State Legislature in 1846 and 1847. 
He became an earnest opponent of slavery and was very 
active in the campaign of 1854-55, which resulted in the 
election of John P. Hale to the United States Senate. 
From that time through the successive political periods to 
the election of James A. Garfield as president in 1 881, he 
was in constant service. 

The beginning of his earnest activity in the political 
arena dates from the time of the election of Joseph Gil- 
more as governor of the state. The period marks also the 
opening of the railroad contest in New Hampshire, which 
was so vigorously maintained for many years. The broad- 
minded Ruel Durkee had from the outset a strong dislike 
for the incoming executive, who showed in his early man- 
agement of affairs a certain narrowness of mind that was 
sure to clash with the open-hearted man from Croydon. 
Throughout the war it was the aim and accomplishment of 
him to see that the town quota was filled, and not only at 


home but in other sections he labored diligently to do more 
than his part. Whenever and wherever substitutes were 
needed he was present to help, and always without thought 
of compensation to himself. Governor Gilmore went so 
far as to deny the soldiers the right of suffrage, and 
Durkee was justly indignant. This followed the bitter 
opposition between the Concord & Nashua Railroad and the 
Manchester & North Weare branch road. The first 
obtained possession of the latter, and one Sunday, the 
more to his shame, Superintendent Gilmore went with a 
party of workmen and tore up the rails, destroyed the 
bridges, and so obliterated a portion of the road. 

This untoward action aroused the latent energies of 
Ruel Durkee, and made him a staunch champion of the 
people against monopoly. Soon politicians began to know 
this man from the country as they had not known him 
before, and with that knowledge came to many a dread of 
his power. Of few words and subtile movements, the 
shrewdest soon came to seek him for advice, and as one of 
the succeeding governors remarked, "I never had cause to 
regret that I accepted his council, and when I followed his 
advice I always came out right." A long chapter of public 
service might be written in describing that trying period. 
The journey from Croydon to Concord and return was no 
slight trip, as it had to be made in those days. It consisted 
of a ride in his own team to Newport, a stage ride to Brad- 
ford of fourteen miles, and then by rail to the capital city. 
Ruel Durkee made these trips many times both by sum- 
mer and by winter. In the latter season an early start had 
to be made in the morning, and the return trip was per- 
formed late in the evening. While his opponents were dis- 
cussing, in the cheerful warmth of the Eagle Hotel, some 
scheme by which they could match or outwit the crafty 
Sage of Croydon, the stalwart figure of that person, 
encased in a coon skin overcoat, with a large beaver cap on 
his head and woolen mittens, knit with a fringe around the 
wrists, on his hands, was seated in the Newport stage, say- 


ing little or nothing to his chance companions, who felt a 
sort of awe in his presence. Upon reaching Newport, his 
large bay horse, sleek as Ruel Durkee's horses always 
were, was led out from the Newport House stable, and 
hitched to a Saxon River sleigh, when the politician tucked 
his wolfskin robes about him and started upon the con- 
cluding stage of his journey, sure to be met with a cordial 
reception from Polly at his home. 

After partaking of a plain supper of bread and milk, 
he would walk out to his store, which was looked after by a 
faithful assistant, there to discuss the affairs of the day, a 
goodly number always certain to be present to hear what 
their representative had to say in regard to the situation at 
the capital. Little short of the marvelous were some of 
the revelations to these plain, homespun people. On these 
occasions, as on all others, he never failed to express his 
dislike for the executive: "A-a, no better than a thief! 
Stole the rails from the North Weare road and destroyed 
the> bridges. Robbed the people." 

A pleasanter picture can be drawn of these long trips 
to and fro between his home and the state capital, when it 
was made in the summer time. In place of the snow- 
drifts and the bleak winds were the flowers and the glory 
of the long days in June. The fur coat was exchanged for 
lighter apparel, and we see him dressed in his accustomed 
broadcloth of the best material in the market. The coat 
was swallowtail with long skirt, the vest double-breasted 
and buttoned to the throat even on the warmest day, the 
pants cut after the old style. Calfskin boots encased his 
feet, while the well-known tall silk hat surmounted the 
large head. This was invariably of Amos Little's best 
make. A wide stock of buckram covered with silk encir- 
cled his big neck, while the dark hue of the waistcoat was 
relieved by a fob watchchain. This was the apparel of the 
man for many years, the only difference being the amount 
of wear given it. When a suit became too worn for best it 
was taken for every day. 


He invariably rode in a Concord wagon, which was 
noted for the peculiar sound given out by its revolving 
wheels. The sound of this wagon was so well known along 
the route so often taken by him that his coming was pro- 
claimed a quarter of a mile ahead of his appearance, and 
the common expression went from lip to lip in home after 
home: "Here comes Ruel!" and when he drove past, the 
window panes would be filled by the expectant faces of the 
occupants of the different houses. 

It was a beautiful drive, one of the prettiest in New 
Hampshire, upon a June morning. Going south from 
Croydon East Village he rode along the west shore of 
Spectacle Pond, two sparkling sheets of water connected 
by the river and so called from a fancied resemblance to a 
pair of spectacles. On the one hand ran a branch of 
Sugar River, and anon the road entered the cooling shades 
of the summer woods, where the fragrance of June lingered 
and the merry songs of warbling birds made light the sum- 
mer scene. If the lindens overhanging had sweet-scented 
blossoms, if ferns wove fairy-like network to embroider the 
highway, if the water added sweet music by its rippling over 
the stony keys of the river, Ruel Durkee had no ear or eye 
for them. He was not a man of sentiment. The regular 
cluck of his wagon axles and the steady strokes of his 
horse's shod hoofs afforded merrier music, for each suc- 
ceeding sound told this stern driver that old Morgan was 
getting another foot nearer his destination. No ; Ruel 
Durkee was not easily moved by sentiment. Yet some- 
where under that rugged exterior there must have been a 
tender spot touched by an appeal for sympathy from some 
hopeless seeker. He was a poor collector in all things. A 
natural lobbyist, one who delighted to mingle in the nomina- 
tion and election of men for office, he never seemed to 
remember his own interests. In his day he held mort- 
gages, but usually against those whom he knew would 
never be able to meet the obligation. As proofs of this 
they lie outlawed to-day where his hand laid them away in 


the old bureau as heirlooms of sympathy if not generosity. 

Something of the keen shrewdness of the man in read- 
ing character is shown in the illustration of the railroad that 
wanted certain privileges and sent a man to work with 
Ruel Durkee to obtain them. The latter looked his visitor 
over slowly, and then said : "A-a, you are not the man I 

want. Tell them to send up , the man I want, 

and we will look after it." The other expostulated in vain, 
saying he had been sent by the company. Upon going 
back and reporting, as he was obliged to, the man desired 
by Durkee was sent and the case won. 

He did not drift into politics from a desire for gain or 
public prestige outside of his own narrow sphere. That he 
might have held high office is evident. No doubt in refus- 
ing them he realized his unfitness for them, and that he felt 
his failings keenly is quite as certain. That he did not 
grasp the full extent of his power or, rather, did not appre- 
ciate the value of his long and faithful service, is as positive 
as the others. While he might be able to say to one of 
New Hampshire's strongest chief executives : "Remember 
who made you governor," there is no proof to show that he 
abused his power. He was brought into too close contact 
with the more unfortunate children of earth, felt too deeply 
their misfortunes, to seek personal emulation at the sacri- 
fice of honesty. In the political woods he was an oak in a 
forest of birches. 

His life work is worthy the study of a student. It was 
not without its good results, as darkly as these are shaded 
in the trying scenes in which he figured. While his neigh- 
boring towns, under the trials and temptations of that try- 
ing period, were running heavily into debt, Croydon, under 
the careful, sagacious management of this country seer, 
came out of the ordeal with a minimum of indebtedness, 
and this without a high rate of taxation. This was indeed 
an enduring if modest monument. 

In 1864 he reached what must have been the proudest 
achievement of his life, when he was selected as messenger 


to carry the electoral vote of New Hampshire to Washing- 
ton. It is comparatively easy to picture the effect this 
plain countryman must have conveyed at the national cap- 
ital among the law-makers and representatives of the 
world's powers. The rough edge of criticism was hewn 
away by the honest simplicity of the man, who gave no 
suggestion of a lack of confidence in his task or realization 
of inferiority. His tailor had not changed the fashion of 
his best broadcloth suit, though it had come fresh from his 
hands. The tall silk hat never looked glossier, the robust 
form of the man never stronger or of a deeper personality. 
Ay, this last counts where other traits of human character 

Of course Ruel Durkee had his failings. He was 
human in a quaint, original cast. No doubt he was a 
bitter enemy. Strong friends are always of that class. If 
not a man of wide influence he was widely feared for what 
he might do. It is not the certainties that we dread but 
the uncertainties. The polished diamond may be more 
beautiful to the eye, but what it has gained in attractiveness 
it has lost in value. He showed his acute insight into 
human nature by his widely quoted expression: "If he is 
honest he'll stay bought." He practised his ideas of safety 
in his political dealings in his favorite maxim, "Don't write, 
send word." Poor letter writers are seldom caught by their 
written words. It is the fluent pen that most often leads 
to trouble. 

Like all uneducated men, he depended upon his mem- 
ory of natural sequence for a result. It is related upon 
good authority that his method of fixing the tax rates was 
along this line and a unique specimen of his work. Sitting 
with his associate selectmen he would call upon one of the 
others to read off the names of the taxpayers, while the 
third, equipped with pen and paper, was told to put down 
the sums he named. As one after another was called off, 
leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, he would 
say: A-a, put down Smith ," naming a sum. "A-a, 


Jones, yes, Jones " giving another amount, following 

this plan until the end of the list was reached. If any 
dissent was made he paid no heed to the protest. As 
strange as it may seem, little if any complaint was made 
against the rates. An explanation is found in the fact that 
with only a hundred voters in town a man of his long expe- 
rience had come to know pretty closely what each one's 
tax should be. 

Anecdotes and quaint sayings of this farmer-politician 
might be given sufficient to fill this entire magazine, but 
space forbids. These show him of plain, rough speech, 
with a variety of odd characteristics. Few of these 'twere 
well to forget; many of them worthy of remembrance. 
Can you say more of those of higher aspirations? Not- 
withstanding the frequent opportunities that must have 
come his way, he died a comparativeiy poor man. His 
funeral services were held in the Congregational church, 
which was filled to overflowing with townspeople and others 
coming from all sections of the state to pay their last 
respects to him who was not only known but loved and 
revered by a wide circle of acquaintances. Mrs. Durkee, 
who had been his patient and faithful companion for over 
half a century, survived him less than six months. Friends 
contributed to furnish this couple with a suitable monument, 
a polished Scotch granite shaft, surmounted with an urn 
on a solid base. The following inscription tells its own story: 

"Ruel Durkee,, bom July 14, 1809. Died July 2, 1885, 
in Croydon. A life-long advocate of human freedom, a 
patriotic citizen, a good neighbor, a devoted husband, and a 
faithful friend of those associates who have erected this 
monument to his memory. 

"Polly S. Barton, the excellent wife of Ruel Durkee. 
Born January 26, 1809. Died December 28, 1885." 

And to-day, on the east wall of the parlor at the old 
farmhouse, hang two portraits painted in oil — those of 
a man and a woman — Ruel Durkee and his wife Polly 
Barton. These remain — these and a memory. 

Cfje ^eatf) of ^rnoib 

By T. C. Harbaugh 

In a dark and dingy attic 

At the close of one fair day, 
In the throbbing heart of London 

Dying fast a soldier lay; 
And the one who knelt beside him 

With a reverential nod, 
Stroking soft the fevered temples, 

Was a holy man of God. 

Far beneath him in the twilight 

Surged the tide of London Town, 
O'er the heartless, stony pavements 

Traffic's feet went up and down ; 
Dreams were his that awful moment, 

Visions met him where he lay — 
He a traitor to his country 

And the Judas of his day. 

Fast for him the tide was ebbing 

And the shadows gathered dark, 
Till, of life's well-wasted candle, 

There remained one tiny spark; 
Out upon a sea infinite 

Drifted rudderless a wreck, 
And the parson bending o'er him 

Heard the muttered word, "Quebec!" 

Like a flash of former glory, 

Like a ray of former fame 
To the wretched, dying traitor 

Came the British city's name. 
Ah! once more he led his legions 

Thro' the forest's wintry glen, 
And again he stormed the fortress 

With Montgomery and his men. 



All around him stood the heroes 

Who amid the tempests fell, 
When he led them young and valiant 

'Gainst the mighty citadel, 
And his pulses beat, as bravely 

There he held death's hand in check 
While he dreamed that he was fighting 

'Neath the ramparts of Quebec. 

For a. moment he was silent, 

Then he raised his fevered hands 
Aud with thunder tones of battle 

Filled the room with his commands : 
"Steady! steady! sons of Freedom! 

One more charge and it is done I 
Forward now ; your general leads you, 

Saratoga's field is won !" 

In that attic slept the traitor, 

No one stood beside his bier, 
Not an eye grew moist that twilight 

And the cold cheeks felt no tear ; 
Bear the news across the ocean 

To the land from whence he fled, 
Tell the men who curse his treason 

Tis the traitor who is dead. 

Dead! unpitied, unbefriended 
In the heart of London Town — 

Dead! the man who sold his country 
To the wearer of a crown 

Linked his name with that of Judas 
Far and wide in Freedom's clime — 

Known forever for his treason, 
. Cursed and hated for all time. 

Yet, despite the traitor's treason, 

On his grave, accursed to-day, 
Two sprigs of fadeless evergreen 

These hands of mine would lay ; 
And the stone that rises o'er him 

With two words I fain would deck, 
Two names that are immortal — 

Saratoga and Quebec! 

ftogers;' Jkout at Hake George 

(September 14-24, 1755.) 


A JOURNAL* of the New Hampshire Scout of Three 
Men sent from Lake George, to reconoitre Fort 
Frederick or Crown Point Fort the New Works 
& Army there.f 

Set forward in a Battoe from the Encampment the 
14 th Sep tr J at about 25 Miles Distance down the Lake, 
landed about daylight, took the Battoe & hid it, left two 
Men of Connecticut Forces, to watch the Battoe and Pro- 
visions till our Return. Saw that Morning sundry Indians 
Canoes passing in the lower Part of the Lake ; Went for- 
ward towards Crown Point. 

•This report is copied from the Massachusetts Archives Vol. 38 A, 
pp. 176-181. The original was evidently written by Col. Joseph Blan- 
chard from dictation by Major Rogers. 

tThe Order issued on this occasion ran as follows : 

Camp at Lake George, 

7 Oct'r 1755. 
You are to embark with the party under your command, and land with them on one of 
the nearest and most convenient islands in the lake toward the carrying place and Ticon- 
deroga and then send out three or four proper persons to reconnoitre the enemy thereabouts 
and make what discoverys they can: you are then to send out the Birch Canoe as a bait for 
the enemy, and to remain with the rest ot the party, in order to succor and assist them if pur- 
sued, or to circumvent the enemy, for which purpose you are to be in constant readiness, with 
your Men and Battoes, and keep a good lookout. 
By the General's Command. 

Peter Wraxall, 

A. D. Camp. 

| The dates given in this report are generally ten days later than 
those given in the published Journals of Major Rogers, which discrepancy 
is accounted for by the fact that the Old Style calendar had not at that 
time come into complete use. 



The 17 th Day at Evening, discovered a the Wheat 
Fields & four Houses, about 2 Miles Sotherly from Crown 
Point Fort. In the Night went to the Intrenchment made 
from the Fort encompassing a little Hill, the Trenches not 
finished, but reaches about 30 Rods from the Fort ; which 
Intrenchment begins at the South west Corner of the Fort, 
and Trends southwesterly about two Rods wide at the 
Fort, and widens to about 15 at the other End. 

Went into the Trench, and spent the Night for discov- 
ery in and about there till morning, and then retired to a 
Mountain about a mile west from the Fort and appurte- 
nances, and saw an Addition to the Fort from the North- 
west Corner about 25 Rods which reached to the Waterside 
inclosing some Buildings many tents set up in it. 

A Windmill about sicty Rods south of the Fort, in 
which Space many Tents were up. had a clear Discovery 
of the Fort and appurtenances. The soldiery were mus- 
tered and exercised. The whole of French and Indians we 
judged were near upon five or six hundred. 

Their People some few were at work at the Intrech- 
ments, seemed unconcerned hunting Pigeons &c all round 
in the woods, some of which came within about 15 Rods of 
the scout. W 7 e came off the Hill at Night. 

The 19 th set homeward, travelled 
}0 the Lake about six miles from Ticonderoga. 

20 th Set up to the Lake to where we left the Battoe, 
found that & two Men (we left) were gone, and we set 

The 23 d late at Night arrived at the Great Camp* 

*this camp 

The Land is rough & mountainous from the lower 
End of the Lake to Crownpoint. The Distance about 20 
miles, and we apprehend impracticable to get a passable! 
Road there. Which is the General Acct. of the Discov- 
eries we have made and is humbly submitted by 
Your Honours 

Most Dutyfull and 
Obedient Servant 

Robert Rogers 
24 th Sept r 1755 
the means for Cannon. 



To the hono ble Joseph Blanchard Esq r Col° of the 
Newhampshire Regiment in the Expedition against Crown- 

May it please your Honour 

The foregoing is a Report of 
Capt Robert Rodgers under your Direction, sent with a 
party to Crownpoint to reconortie that Fort, which is hum- 
bly offered by your 

Most humble Servant 

Joseph Blanchard 
Lake George 24 th Sept. 1755 

A true copy from the Original Examined by me 

Peter Wraxald 

Sec.y to Gen 1 Johnson 
To the hono ble General Johnson. 

<QZi)t €>lo i*arm=C|ou$e on the Cftll 

By Fred Myron Colby 

There comes to me a picture, — 

A picture fair and bright; 
A farm-house on the hillside 

With clapboards painted white; 
Where 'neath the eaves the swallows 

Built every summer time, 
And sweet the echoes sounded 

Of chanticleer's shrill chime. 

I see its quaint old gables 

With slanting roof-tree low ; 
Where through the purple twilights 

Moved shadows to and fro. 
I see the tall white chimneys, 

The windows small and old, 
Which in the flaming sunsets 

Seemed turned to burning gold. 

! ; 



Around it stand tall maples 

With rustling, creaking limbs, 
Where in the summer evenings 

The birds sing vesper hymns. 
1 Within its oaken doorway 

Stretched wide a stately hall, 
Where massively framed pictures 

Hung on the paneled walk 

Under the mossy windows 

The bouncing betties grew, 
White lilacs and sweet williams, 

And roses wined with dew. 
What footsteps there have lingered 

Beside the open door, 
Or paced with dreamy fancies 

That even-sanded floor ! 

A burst of childish voices 

Comes to me as I dream ; 
The silent, dim old mansion 

With life and laughter teem. 
I catch a glimpse of grandma 

Beside her spinning wheel ; 
A host of memories follow 

The flashing of her reel. 

Gay pastimes there have wakened 

The ghosts of by-gone years ; 
I hear a burst of laughter 

Through falling mist of tears. 
With mirth of bees and dances 

The rafters there have rung; 
There rose the prayer of worship 

When holy hymns were sung. 

Each silent room is haunted 

With visions that have fled ; 
The voices of its tenants 

Have long ago been dead. 
But still the ancient farm-house 

Stands on the hillside green, 
And bright the summer sunshine 

Gleams on the peaceful scene. 



M : - r; 

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»^* K '. 


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" \ ■ "■--'„■■ '^ - ■ .. . ,->fT--. ''— r-; 

"•'■"T^/' ; ^' T" .V - . ; -- : " ".•-"• aS 



J*ir£t <$las& faking in America 


An Industry of a New Hampshire Town 
By Charles B. Heald 

OME few miles eastward of grand old Monadnock, 
in a picturesque vale of sunlit hills, nestles the 
quiet little village of Temple, one of New Hamp- 
shire's secluded gems of forest and meadow. 
Although now an almost forgotten fact, this modest coun- 
try town can claim the first glass-works in America. 

Recently woodmen in stripping the forest in the south- 
western part of this town came upon the site of these 
early glass-works. A stone oven was found and fused 
together with the rocks was a greenish glass, while scat- 
tered about were fragments of the same material, proving 
beyond any doubt that here was indeed the site of the old- 
time "glass-house, 1 * a sort of local myth with the towns- 
folk for the last generation or more. 

The spot is on a wooded ridge midway between Tem- 
ple and Kidder Mountains, a half mile east of the Sharon 
line and twice that distance north of New Ipswich, but a 
good five-mile tramp by road and path to the Temple village 
green. All about the locality lies a beautiful region of 
peaceful valleys, fertile fields and well-tilled farms, but the 
spot itself is still in the same lonely wilderness it was in 
1780, when Robert Hewes of Boston came with his score 
or more of German glass-blowers and erected a furnace for 
the making of glass. Odd it would seem that such a 
retired place was chosen, did we not know that seclusion 
was the object sought, because the men with Hewes were 
Hessian deserters from the British army and, moreover, 
the mother country would not permit any home industry in 
the colonies. 




The prime mover in the enterprise must have been 
this Robert Hewes, then a man about thirty years of 
age and with strong Yankee characteristics. Hewes some 
years before had become, in a casual way, interested in 
glass making, so much so as to try it in an experimental 
course which resulted in his producing plate glass. We 
next learn of him, for he seems to have been a man of many 
traits, not as a student but a teacher of the broad-sword in 
the American army. It was at this time, doubtless, that he 
became acquainted with the Hessians, a friendship that must 
have resulted in their desertion of the military for a more 
peaceful, yet rougher, life in the wilderness. 

The first "glass-house" was a building sixty-five feet 
square, with log huts adjacent. From the ruins, still to be 
seen, amid a tangled wood and partial clearing, the furnace 
must have been fairly well constructed. It is still intact, 
the keystone in its place, like the one of old, found beneath a 
pile of rubbish, where it had been placed by the master 
craftsman long years ago. 

The glass blown was the shape of a decanter, holding 
from a quart to a gallon or more. There could not have 
been many made as a fire soon destroyed the buildings and 
the industry came to a standstill. It is of interest to note 
that a few of these specimens are still in existence, a large 
one to be seen on the dining-room mantel of the hotel in 
New Ipswich. This one holds about three gallons and, 
although rather crude at the neck, is nearly perfect, round 
and shapely. The glass is of a greenish hue, muddy-look- 
ing and filled with grains of sand imbedded in it. With 
the poor facilities that Hewes' men had at their command, 
it is somewhat of a wonder that they were able to turn out 
as good specimens of early glass making as they did. 

In the locality of the furnace there was no sand, and 
it had to be drawn from the- shore of Magog Pond in New 
Ipswich, while the stones with which was built were drawn 
by ox team from Uxbridge, Mass., sixty miles away. 

Hewes must have been a man of remarkable determina- 


tion, although at home in Boston, being quite wealthy, his 
was a life of ease. He had the ability to rough it that he 
might carry out his project, and in his future attempts 
toward the re-establishment of glass-works, we find his per- 
sistency was a strongly developed trait in his character. 
After the fire, which occurred while he was in Boston, 
Hewes wrote to the selectmen of Temple for aid in rebuild- 
ing, but these "honorable gentlemen" showed from the first 
that they did not take kindly to his glass-making scheme, 
nor to his "thirty-two glass-blowing, smoke-puffing Dutch 
men," as the town records term them. 

Hewes next applied to the General Court of New 
Hampshire for "freedom from rates on his buildings ; like- 
ways the same freedom for his glass-makers, to encourage 
them in the Business; and a bounty on the Glass they 
shall make." 

Direct action to this appeal was postponed, but the 
records of the house of representatives, under the date of 
January 2, 1781, shows that it was voted that Hewes "when 
able to manufacture good window-glass, would receive from 
this State due encouragement." This vote was also passed 
the same day by the council, the higher body of the Gen- 
eral Court. Later, encouraged by a loan of three thousand 
pounds from the town of Temple for "ye encouragement 
of ye Glass Manufactory," Hewes again addressed the 
General Court to issue lottery tickets for the purpose of 
raising more money. What words of eloquence and per- 
suasion he used to gain the assent of this "Honorable 
Body," as frail as the glassware he was attempting to make, 
is not known, but the General Court of New Hampshire 
did grant him that permission without discussion March 30, 
1781. Both house and council passed an act unique in the 
legislative history of New England. It read as follows : 

State of New Hampshire. 
In the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-one. 

An Act to authorize certain persons to raise Two Thousand Pounds 
of the New Emission, to enable one Robert Hewes to carry on the manu- 


facturing of Glass in the Town of Temple, in the County of Hillsborough 
Whereas. Robert Hewes of Boston, in the State of Massachusetts, 
bath petitioned the General Court, setting forth that he has been at great 
expense in erecting Buildings and prepairing materials to carry on the 
manufacturing of glass in the Town of Temple, and that he has brought 
the same near to perfection, but was unable to proceed further without 
public encouragement, and should be obliged to drop the enterprise. 
# # * * * 

Upon consideration of which Petition, the same appeared reasonable, 
and the granting of the prayer thereof would be for the public good. 
Therefor, Be it enacted by the Council and House of Representatives 
assembled, and by the authority of the Same, that Liberty be, and hereby 
is granted, to establish and carry on a Public Lottery, to raise the sum of 
Two Thousand Pounds of the New Emmission, to be applied to the pur- 
pose of carrying on said Glass-manufactory and paying incidental charges. 


Thus Robert Hewes obtained the indorsement of the 
state to this "lottery bill," but, alas! he could not dispose 
of his tickets to advantage, so now fully discouraged he 
tried to sell out, Hessians and all, to the town of Temple. 
The townspeople thought they had had enough of the Hes- 
sians, "lazy Dutchmen," as they called them, and the care 
of glass-works was not in their line, so Hewes abandoned 
the affair and returned to Boston. We afterward read of 
him as a gentlemen of leisure, and residing in an "elegant 
mansion surrounded by a spacious court and magnificent 
shade trees." This was at the corner of Washington and 
Essex streets, and old residents often relate seeing him in 
his garden, in dressing gown, at play with his pet peacocks 
and paroquets. He was a man of short stature, slightly 
rotund, ef light complexion, and very active. "Sally," he 
once said to his housekeeper, "I am seventy-five years old 
to-day and can handle a sword better than any young man 
in Boston." The Boston Directory of 1825 says, "Hewes, 
Robert, surgeon, bone-setter, corner of Essex; Poland 
starch-maker, 372 Washington street ; Teacher of sword 
exercise, Boylston Market." It would seem by what we 
learn from other sources, that to some degree he was suc- 
cessful as a surgeon, and that his "liniment" was a favorite 
household remedy. "I made this liniment and the bottles 
it is in," he once remarked to a visitor. 





l|^|j||Glafs.Works Lottery, 

^BVMlt^M X HIS TICKET entitles the Bearer to receive fuch jjj 
' " i<j&££ Prize as may be drawn againft its Number, in a Lottery * 
pt'-'-L-tlfe cftablifhcd by an Aft of the General Court of the State of* 


NV?/>^ { , r //"> New-Hampshire, March 30, A. D. 1 78 1, to encourage * 
SSS^II the ma ™faftory of Glass. ¥ 




The Columbian Centinel, July 21, 1830, has this obitu- 
ary: "In this city, Dr. Robert Hewes, aged 79 ; long known 
as a celebrated bone-setter and fencing master." Hewes 
was buried in one of the old tombs that was removed from 
Boston common when the subway was built. 

Of the fate of the German workmen Hewes left 
behind at Temple we know very little. Local tradition 
tells of a sickness among them that proved fatal, and that 
they were buried near the scene of their unsuccessful 
labors. The town records say that for fear they might 
become town charges they were "warmed" out of the place. 
Just what that "warming" process was is not stated, but it 
may be these unfortunate aliens were consigned to some 
temperature where they could ply their trade with greater 
vigor. This may be so, for one of the weird tales of our 
grandfathers' time was that any dark night, should one 
choose to go there, queer mutterings and strange doings 
could be heard and seen in the vicinity of the old glass 
house. Even the town historian relates of a farmer living 
near its site who, while digging a well, astonished his neigh- 
bors one day by coming out of the depths with blanched 
face to tell of loud voices he had heard down below, and 
that "he wasn't going back there again to break through." 
It might have been the broken English of our Dutch 
friends that Farmer Stowell heard in his well. 

Far from the humorous, however, was the untimely 
end of these German aliens, left stranded as they were 
among the unfriendly village folk, who could see nothing 
worthy in the careless good-fellowship of these men from 
over the sea ; men who were doubtless at heart warm and 
true and who must have been skilled at an art as yet 
unlearned in this country. There is a certain pathos in 
their lot, and could we but have known their life history we 
might have untangled many a romance that ended in a wil- 
derness away from loved ones, home and Fatherland. 

B Hesson for 2fop* 

By George Bancroft Griffith 

'ifefVf^E CALLED a few days ago upon a gentleman in 

I ^y a neighboring city, who is a prosperous business 

man and who is rather noted among his friends 

for having an exceptionally fine appearing business place. 

"How is it that you have such a magnificent dash to 
your business system, and this air of superiority in your 
whole establishment, from your office boy up?" we asked. 

"Not many years ago," he replied, "I commenced my 
career as an office boy in an insurance office which pre- 
sented a model of executive management, neatness and 
clock-like system. 

"To the training I got there, and a lesson my good 
mother gave me, I attribute much of my success. Not 
long after I had learned to sweep the office effectually, a 
number of my friends got up a sleighing party and invited 
me to join them. I thought my happiness for life depended 
wholly upon going for a young miss of whose society I was 
very fond, who was anxious to go, and I was afraid if I 
failed to come to time my rival would take advantage of my 
absence and suddenly undo all I had accomplished by hard 

"But the expense of the ride for myself and girl would 
be ten dollars, and at that time a dollar looked about as 
large to me as a good-sized cartwheel ought to. I found 
out, however, that I could get two seats with the driver for 
five dollars and, as my young friend was willing to sit there, 
I decided to take those instead of paying double the price 
for the other seats. I thought I had done a good thing in 
saving so much and spoke to my mother about it, expecting 
her praise, but she looked displeased and said: 



"'My son, I would not on any consideration allow you 
to go on this ride in such a way. Go first-class or not at 
all. If there are any fifteen-dollar seats get them by all 
means, if you want to go so very much, and I will help you 
pay for them. Never, my son, do anything in a cheap, 
second-rate way. Do not try to do too much, but let what 
you do be first-class always, and you will in time get where 
you can do as you wish.' " 

From the Norse 
By George Waldo Browne 

Like lovers are the soft stars hieing, 

Each to his maid on light step borne; 
My dragon ! 'way on wings swift flying — 

Thou billows blue, roll on, roll on ! 
In yonder grove the Whi*e God sitteth, 

Good Balder, unto whom we turn : 
And there Lo v e's goddess coyly knitteth 

By ones the threads of trusting norn. 

Along thy strand I lightly wander: 

Thy blooming cheek, fair earth, I kiss ; 
And flowers that fringe the pathway yonder 

With white and red art mine in bliss. 
And thou, fair moon, with pale light streaming 

On grove and temple, cairn and mound, 
In god-like beauty art thou dreaming, 

Like Saga at a wedding found. 

My heart's own voice, sweet rill, whence caught thee 
The tender throbbings of my breast ? 

And, Norland's nightingale, who taught ye 
The plaintive songs that I love best ? 

24 the viking's love song 

In twilight hues the fairies playing 

With clouds soft paint my Ingborg's form, 

Till Freyja, * jealousy portraying, 
Sends hence the image in a storm. 

L«t fickle clouds forget her semblance ; 
She comes herself-^like hope ! and fair 

And true as childhood's bright remembrance- 
Yea, comes, for heart has heard my prayer, 

Come, love, let these strong arms infold thee ;- 
Let this true heart thy shield be e'er; 

Upon this breast I'll safely hold thee, 

Free from all harm, my soul's bright star ! 

As lityj tall thy form and slender, 

Yet fresh and fair as summer rose, 
While pure as will of gods and tender, 

With all the fervor Freyja knows. 
Beloved, let kisses seal our passion, 

Bind soul to soul in perfect bliss, 
Till fades the earth's and heaven's vision — 

Transported by thy melting kiss. 

Thy tresses with the sunlight beaming 

A starry crown shouldst given be; 
And my fair lily, rosy beaming, 

In Vingolf's t hall shouldst dance with me. 
Then from the dizzy maze Vd bringeth 

Thee safe to Hymen's blissful bower, 
Where Brage, silver-bearded, singeth 

New bride-songs with each even's hour. 

How clear and sweet the song bird's vesper — 

Soft strains that float from \ alhal's strand ! 
How softly falls the moonbeam's whisper — 

Light music from the Spirit Land I 
They herald hope and joys unending, 

A Kingdom free from fear and pain — 
A Heaven blest with Love's ways blending, 

Where thou, my Ingeborg, shall reign. 

♦The Goddess of Love. 

t Palace of the Asynjer — mansion el bliss. 



l JS- 


.- . 



A Plain Tale of Plain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By Georgb Waldo Browne 

[Copyright, 1906, by the Author] 

What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue! — Burke. 



When two nags won't hitch together, but balk an' raise a rumpus, 
An' bite, an' throw their feet aroun' to all p'ints of tbe compass. 

— Foss. 

UR couple did not prove to be early risers the fol- 
lowing morning, so that Mrs. Goodwill's voice was 
heard at the foot of the stairs for the second time 
before they appeared, ready for breakfast. They found 
Deacon Goodwill in a more genial mood than on the pre- 
vious evening, which was pretty good evidence that his 
rheumatism was better. He inquired particularly how they 
had rested, and touched upon personal matters to such an 
extent that even the resourceful prodigal was glad when 
they were told to sit up to the table. The host had barely 
taken his seat at the head when Enoch burst into the room 
saying that a stranger had driven into the yard and was 
inquiring for his father. 

"A stranger to see me?" demanded the deacon, show- 
ing a frown on his narrow countenance. "Didn't yeou tell 



him I wus sayin' grace ? How provoking that a stranger 
ye don't know should come et this time of th' mornin'. I 
look upon et as sacrilege to break in on a man when he's 
sayin' grace, especially et breakfast. But I s'pose ye'll hev 
to run eout an' tell him to come in, 'cos I ain't in any fit 
condition to come eout." 

Enoch did as he was bid, and by the time Deacon 
Goodwill had ended his prayer the visitor entered the room. 
Free Newbegin and Quiver quickly recognized him as the 
Mr. Johnson who had come to Sunset the day before. 
Glancing toward Abe they saw him eyeing the new comer 
suspiciously. The latter, however, was very much at his 
ease, and after bidding every one a very cordial good morn- 
ing he seated himself at one side of the room. 

"Set by an' hev a bite," invited the deacon. "We 
farmers hev to put up with purty plain fare, but sich as et 
is ye air welcome. Reckon ye air a stranger in these 

"It has been a long time since I was this way, Deacon 
Goodwill, but I remember your countenance well. I have 
been to breakfast, thank you. Stopped with the squire ; 
he's an early riser.. Got a smart daughter. He tells me 
she does the work at home and teaches the village school. 
She's a chip of the old block. My mother had a brother 
who was well acquainted with the people in these parts, so 
I feel at home. In fact, for that matter, I generally do. 
I ain't one of your gingerly sort of men who wears kids and 
looks for fly specks in the chair before he sits down. Got 
a fine farm here, deacon. Suppose you keep a large 

"One of the largest in town," replied the other, whose 
vanity was touched by this compliment. 

"I knew it, and everything kept up in such good shape. 
One don't have to inquire to find out the thrifty farmers, 
for there is nothing in which a man's deeds speak plainer 
than in farming. Fine ridge of land. I was looking over 
the landscape as I came along, and it looks so your valley 


down here must come in the range of the gold vein thought 
to run through the town. The people about here are nearly 
wild over the discovery, and I do not wonder. It is surpris- 
ing how it should have been there all these years, and then 
be found by a stranger. But I'm glad it has been found, 
though it'll do me no good. Real estate will take a big rise. 
Why, the Widow Temple's little place, actually worth out- 
side of this a couple of hundred, brought fifteen thousand 
dollars at the auction yesterday. Some outsiders — strangers 
—got to running on it. Of course they know what they 
are doing, but I should hate to put so much money into it 
unless I was sure I was going to get it back with a hand- 
some profit. But the man who got it is making big boasts. 
The most curious part of it is nobody seems to know the 
man who bid against him. He would have got it for less 
than a hundred if it hadn't been for this mysterious bidder. 
It was a grand outcome for the widow, though I have been 
told she cried when she signed the papers. That's a 
woman's way : 'cry when she's glad ; cry when she's mad ; 
and cry when she feels bad,' as the saying goes." 

In this way the new-comer kept up his conversation 
until the meal had been completed and, the men moving 
back, Mrs Goodwill cleared away the cloth. Abe managed 
to whisper to Reuben Rover: 

"He's after Bet, and the way he's stuffing dad he'll get 
her cheap. What if he should take a notion to sell her ? 
He shan't if I can help it." 

The entire party at this juncture, the deacon hobbling 
along with the aid of a stick, left the house. Inside of five 
minutes Mr. Johnson verified Abe's prediction by saying: 

"Speaking of cattle and horses, deacon, reminds me 
that I saw your son with a mare yesterday that seemed to 
be just what I have been looking for as a family driver. 
I am disposed to give you a good trade if you care to 
swap — " 

"I never allow myself to take up with that ungodly 
bizness of swappin' hosses," broke in the other, with con- 


siderable show of resentment in his tone. 

"Pardon me, Deacon Goodwill, I know you are not a 
man to stoop to the crooked ways of the common jockey, 
and I would not for a moment have you think that I am 
one. I never trade hosses unless it is to improve my situ- 
ation. I do it just as you would trade oxen. When your fine 
yoke of oxen becomes too old to be employed profitably on 
your farm, you turn them for beef. Or if they are not just 
what you need for such work as you have for them, you 
swap them, do you not, for a pair that will suit you ? 

"Sart'in," replied the deacon, brushing an imaginary 
fly from his nose, "sart'in." 

"Well, that is just the case with me. Now I have lost 
my family hoss and I promised mother, she's my wife 
though I've fallen in with the habit of the children by call- 
ing her by that sacred name, that I would try and and 
find another. I had no sooner put my eye on that brown 
mare of yours than I said to myself, 'here is the very animal 
I have been looking for.' She is older than I intended to 
buy, but she will answer a good purpose for a few years. 
Her knees are in bad shape, but not every one would notice 
them. I am a man of few words, Deacon Goodwill, and I 
never beat about the bush. I will give you seventy-five 
dollars for that mare, pay you spot cash, and take her 

"Hear him talk about being a man of few words, when 
he has been 'beating: about the bush' for a full hour," whis- 
pered Abe. "That offer won't fetch dad." 

"I 'low th' mare is gettin' to be a leetle old," responded 
Deacon Goodwill, after a brief pause, "but I wouldn't open 
th' barn to let her out fer thet money," giving his nose a 
vigorous brush with his horny palm. 
.. "Perhaps somebody has been making you an offer?" 

"Can't say as there has been one made directly 
to me." 

"Yes, I see. Know where you can turn her for more 
than my money. Does he know how old she is, and that 


her knees are sprung and her feet pinched?" 

"Dunno anything about sich outs. Th' mare wus sold 
to me to be sound as a nut. She's quick an' light on th' 
foot. Has remark'ble long reach." 

"Perhaps the man offered you a hundred by way of 
trade. Remember my offer is for spot cash — fifteen five- 
dollar bills piled one right above another. That makes a 
pretty high pile, as I will show you. Besides, a dollar in 
the hand is worth three out of sight in a hoss trade." 

"I guess, Abe, it is gettin' dry enough so ye can 'tend 
to 'em beans," said Mr. Goodwill, as Mr. Johnson began to 
illustrate his words by beginning to count out the seventy- 
five dollars in new crisp bills that had a most enticing sound 
to the farmer as they rustled in the hands of the shrewd 
trader, In the midst of this action Mr. Johnson suddenly 
looked up, saying : 

"Look here, Deacon. As I said, I am a man of few 
words, and I dislike dickering. Seeing I have set my mind 
on buying that mare, I am going to make you another offer, 
which must be my best. I ought not to do it, but I am 
going to give you, seeing you have been offered a hundred 
by way of trade, one hundred and a quarter. I do not 
wonder you look surprised, for it is a fabulous price. But 
the matter of a few dollars is not to be compared by me 
to having a hoss that I know is safe for those dear to me to 
drive. What is twenty-five dollars compared to a human 
life? Will you lead out the mare, young man, while I count 
out to" your father the money? I have a long journey 
before me and little time to lose. Say, deacon, ninety-five 
dollars is a pretty fair profit to make on an old horse, eh? 
I understand she only cost you thirty dollars." 

In his amazement Deacon Goodwill did not stop to 
question this stranger as to his source of information. The 
offer did seem like a dazzling sum to him, and he knew 
where he could place the money at a good profit. Abe saw 
that his father was wavering, and he turned pale at the 
possibility of the offer being accepted. Sidling up to his 


father, he whispered: 

"Squire Nevvbegin will do better than that, dad, I 
know he will. He told me to tell you not to sell her with- 
out seeing him, and that he'd give you more than any other 

"Tut — tut, boy ! the squire is willing to do anything to 
spoil a good trade for me. I wouldn't let him hev her 
anywhere, near what this man will pay. He has made 
me a big offer — double what the mare is really wuth, 
an' I haven't riz him up to this notch to let him slip through 
my fingers now." 

Meanwhile young Newbegin had quietly stepped aside 
and, though drinking in every word spoken by both men, 
he was apparently intent on breaking into short pieces a 
dry stick he had picked up. Abe now crossed the yard to 
where he stood looking down the valley as the former 
approached. Abe said in an undertone : 

"I jess b'lieve dad is going to snap at th' bait !" 

"Do you really want him to keep her? And you feel 
sure she can do what you think?" 

"You can lay your last cent on that. This man is lying 
when he says he jess wants her for a family hoss. He 
wants her for the Coldbrook race, so as to clean out Jock 
Jenness and the others, or else he is working for Jock. I 
ain't clean sure] which yet, but whichever way it is it 
amounts to the same." 

"Perhaps I can induce your father to keep her. Or 

"Let me keep th' mare to work a couple of days, I 
s'pose?" asked the deacon. "'Em beans must be got in 
and there air some chores needed to be done." 

"It would inconvenience me considerable, seeing I am 
so far from home. Get a hoss from one of Xour neigh- 

"Have to buy et, or what's th' same. Men air so 
'fraid o' their hosses." 

"I see. Well, seeing it's a trade, and I am anxious to 


get home to-day, I will pay you for two days' work, and 
take the mare along with me. Lead her out, bub." 

The die was cast and Abe turned a last appealing 
look upon his father, and then upon Freeland Newbegin. 
Little Enoch, to whom Mr. Johnson had directed his last 
remark, hesitated before starting toward the barn, where 
Bet was at that time. 

"Hold on," said young Newbegin, looking upon the 
others as coolly as if he was capable of doing all he talked. 
"I have taken a fancy to that mare, too. Though I do not 
want her for a family horse, and with all her years, her 
crooked knees, pinched feet, and with a spavin or two 
thrown in, I will give you an even two hundred dollars, 
while you may keep her to do your work for a month." 

A frown swept quickly over the countenance of Air. 
Johnson, who turned angrily upon the new bidder, ex- 

"Who are you who interferes in this way with another's 

"One who has as good right as you, sir, as long as I 
give a square fight and pay my bills." 

"He's a city -feller 's come along last evenin' an' asked 
to stop with me," explained the deacon, who felt called 
upon to say something. "Come to think on't I ain't asked 
him his name, I snum I hain't." 

"He's no gentleman, that's sure," retorted Mr. John- 
son. "But I believe you are a man of your word, Deacon 

•'He has not accepted your offer," replied Newbegin, 
"and I fail to see how he is bound to you by word or deed. 
If you really want the mare you will have to pay more for 
her than I will, and I have come more than fifty miles." 

"I do not know you, sir, nor how much money you may 
have, fifty dollars or not a cent," declared Mr. Johnson, 
who showed that he was greatly exercised over this unex- 
pected rival. "Here is the money, deacon, and you have 
the satisfaction of knowing you have dealt with an honest 


man. I have no desire to mix up in a simple matter of 
business with a hoss jockey and, for aught we know, a 
sharper. Lead out the mare, bub, for I would like to see 

Abe winked to Reuben Rover and with astonishing 
willingness started toward the barn, followed by Enoch. 
But they were gone so long without appearing with the 
mare that both Mr. Johnson and Deacon Goodwill became 
impatient. Finally the latter called for them to come, and 
a minute later Abe came out of the barn, saying in a very 
humble tone : 

"I'm sorry, dad, but Bet is dead lame ! It's in her for- 
ward foot, and she — " 

"That mare lame?" thundered the deacon, lifting the 
stout stick he carried for a support to shake it over his 
head, as he realized this might cost him a good trade. 
"She was all right yesterday. Bring her out." 

Enoch soon came down the path leading the mare by 
the halter, while she limped painfully and at times could 
hardly be persuaded to take another step. Deacon Good- 
will was so angered by the sight that he stormed furiously, 
without any regard for the presence of the others. 

"Ye did thet, Abe Goodwill, racin' with thet stranger 
yesterday. It's a sin an' a shame thet a boy o' mine should 
bring sich disgrace on my good name. Ye've s'piled thet 
mare an' lost me a good trade." 

"Of course I do not want a lame hoss, deacon," said 
Mr. Johnson. "Under the circumstances of course I shall 
want to wait a bit before being sure I can pay what I 

"My offer is good under any circumstance," declared 
young Newbegin. "You may keep her to do your work 
for a month, deacon, and I will take my chances of her 
coming out of this lameness." 

This placed Mr. Johnson in a delicate situation. He 
had come with the intention of buying the mare, and he 
would rather have paid two hundred dollars for her than to 


miss the purchase. But if she was permanently lame that 
changed the matter entirely. Finally he said: 

"Lead her around, bub. Let's see if she doesn't get 
over it in a minute." 

Enoch did as he was bidden, but old Bet only seemed 
to grow worse. Free Newbegin alone of the little party 
watched the countenance of Abe, whose sunburned features 
grew brighter in spite of the bitter mutterings of his 
father. He then turned to notice the different expressions 
on the faces of his host and the jockey, both trying to 
win out a bargain that was in danger of being lost. Mr. 
Johnson carefully examined the fore leg of the mare from 
hoof to shoulder, saying as he straightened up : 

"She's dead lame, sure. I don't understand it. She 
appeared to be all right yesterday. But it is always so with 
an old hoss. Never can count on one. That's why I 
didn't feel like offering more at first. She's seen the day 
when she was worth two hundred dollars. But that 's past. 
I'll tell you what I will do, deacon, and if you don't say I'm 
fair I'll give you the best hoss in my barn. I'll take the 
mare home with me and keep her a week. At the end of 
that time, if she comes ojt all right, I'll come over and pay 
you the money. If the doesn't I'll send her back to you 
without a cent of expense or trouble to you. You have 
got a bridle I can borrow, I suppose, to lead her by?" 

It was evidently the intention of Mr. Johnson to carry 
into immediate effect his purpose, but before he had 
obtained the bridle Free Newbegin said somewhat sternly: 

"I fail to see what you mean, Mr. Johnson. Do you 
prefer to have one hundred and twenty-five dollars for that 
mare to two hundred, Deacon Goodwill?" 

"Why, no, of course not," stammered the deacon. 

"I thought so. The mare is mine, Put her back in 
the barn, boy, and by-and-by if you want to harness her 
up do so. A little exercise will do that leg good." 

"Look here, Deacon Goodwill," cried Mr. Johnson, 
losing his temper, "are you willing to let this man jew you 


out of your hard-earned money?" 

"He talks fair," replied the other. 

"He hasn't shown you the color of a dollar yet." 

''The money shall be ready for you, Deacon Goodwill, 
the moment you deliver the property. You are free to 
keep her for a month, and by that time your fall's work 
will be done." 

"That's fair," admitted the deacon. Without another 
word Mr. Johnson, looking very red in the face, gathered 
up his reins and drove away. 

Whatever misgivings Deacon Goodwill felt, or what 
was really in his mind, was not to be divined by his speech, 
as he said to Abe: 

"Go deown an' git Life Story to come up an' knock 
the mare in th' head. She's ruined an' I've lost the best 
chance I shall hev to sell her," and with this parting shot 
he went into the house to upbraid the rest of his family for 
his fancied grievance. 

"Guess dad won't sell Bet to-day," declared Abe, with 
a merry twinkle in his blue eyes, and brightness overspread 
his countenance which for the moment drove away the 

"But the mare is not really lame?" asked Newbegin, 
who was both puzzled and pleased by the ingenious youth. 

"It won't help us any by talking abaout it. Uncle Life 
told me how it might be done. If yaou should see her an 
hour from now she might not hobble much. Stopping in 
taown for long?" 

"A month perhaps. Say, Abe, have you got two cents 
you can lend me till I get some big bills broken? I happen 
to be all out of small change." 

"Enoch 's got it if I hain't. Maybe I have. I'll run 
and see." 

While Abe was gone in the house he and Leonard 
talked over the plans for the day, the former saying in 
conclusion : 

"You take that letter over to Newmarket and mail it. 

X 699i 



I will lie low while you are gone. I may pick up a few 
pointers. I do not believe it will be best for us to show an 
open hand until after the selectmen have got our warning. 
You will get back to-morrow, and you had better come 
here, as it will be better for us to make this our headquar- 
ters at present. As long as we stay we can put off paying 
our bill." 

"I had one penny and I borrowed one from Enoch," 
said Abe, reappearing at this moment. "You're welcome 
to 'em, mister — mister, by gosh, I don't know your name 

"It is Bidwell, Justin Bidwell," replied the prodigal, 
regardless of the truth, thinking he could laugh it off as a 
joke if necessary. Aside he said to Quiver, "You will 
want to remember this. You might as well take the same 
sirname — cousins, you know. How would Robert Bidwell 

"Only don't call me Bob. So long till I see you again, 
Cousin Justin," and with these words Leonard Quiver 
started off on foot, while his friend, very much to the sur- 
prise of the young farmer, said : 

"If you don't mind I'll work with you to-day, Abe." 




Perhaps they may count me a beggar here, 
With never a roof for the wind or the rain ; 

But there is the sea with its wave-lashed pier, 
And over the sea lies Spain. 

— Coleman. 

OU pull beans !" exclaimed Abe in genuine amaze- 
ment. "I didn't know yaou ever worked." 

"I must confess it has been a long time since 
I have pulled beans, but I believe it will do me good now. 
I just want to try. If I hinder you more than I help you. 
I will stop." 

It is needless to say Abe was delighted, while the dea- 
con watching them from the window wondered what it 

" Tears 's he hain't so stuck up 's we thought he wus," 
he remarked. "But he must hev oceans of money 'cos he 
offered me two hundred dollars for Bet, and he stuck by 
his offer arter we found she wus lame, which was better 'n 
th' other man. But mebbe he'll pay more 'n two hundred 
ef she should come out'n et." 

If his back soon began to ache, his hands grew rough 
and horny, and his shoes became filled with the loose dirt 
shaken from the bean roots, Free Newbegin stuck to his 
self-imposed task with a persistency that was commendable. 
He showed good judgment in his work, too, as if he had 
long been familiar with the labor. He moved about among 
the cornhills, for the beans had been planted with that 
crop, without breaking down the stocks, and placed each 
armful of the beans upon the scrub pines used for the 
"shook" so they would dry well. Abe was happy in 
his genial company and, unconscious of the purpose for 
which he was being used, furnished his companion with a 


great variety of information concerning Sunset and its 
inhabitants, all of which would prove valuable to the 
schemer. One thing he learned for a moment dazed him. 
One of the board of selectmen was Deacon Goodwill. 
On second thought he wisely concluded that it might be 

"With all his set ideas the deacon is a man one can 
wind around his finger, if he only goes at it right," he 
mused. "I sum him up as a pious and penurious old 
sinner, and this day's work, I'll wager, will go more toward 
winning his alliance than almost anything I can do. He 
can be flattered ; the squire will have to be bluffed, with a 
big B." 

"The chairman of the board this year is Eb Reed, 
'Cap'en Eb,' as they call him," volunteered Abe. "Kind of 
funny how the cap'en got there. Yaou see, the squire has 
been to the head for years but he got tired on't. 'Sides 
lot found fault ; said he'd been taking the town's money. 
So he said he wouldn't have nothing to do with it. Then 
Cap'en Eb set on putting in his son John, him as has been 
off to school and come home a filosofer, as he calls it. 
But all he can do is to filosofy ; can't hoe a hill of taters to 
save his life, and he's afraid of the caows so he can't drive 
'em to parster. At the last election before this Cap'en Eb 
voted for John for every offis as it come along. But he 
never got over two votes, and yaou can guess who throwed 
'em. The squire was moderator, which he has been ever 
since I was born, and on the last day Mr. Irons, the black- 
smith, got up and said as how Jim Bracy had got so poor 
and helpless that they'd have to make a pauper o' him. 
This sort of riled Cap'en Eb, who felt he'd been slighted, 
and so he jumped up and hollered, so they heerd him 
away down to the Harbor : 'Look here, Mr. Newbegin ! 
talk o' makin' a pauper o' thet ijit over there, when there 
be sich in taown as my son John ; him whose eddication 
cost me afore it wus eended my best yoke o' oxen and a 
flock o' my best meriner sheep. Yes, sirree, as true as 


yaou air born, if yaou make a pauper o' enny one it must 
be my son John!' " 

"They made the old hall shake with larfter, and 
Bim Goosberry, the biggest clown hereabouts, larfed till he 
busted his back and they had to get a doctor over from 
Deepwood. This year, to sort of patch up the cap'en's 
feelings, they put him in chairman of the selectmen, 
though they say he can't read the papers to save his life. 
But I s'pose John helps him. John's courting the squire's 
daughter. Anyway he thinks he is, but of course Nat 
Newbegin has got too much common sense to take up with 
him. But, say, Mr. Bidwell, yaou want to stay till Cap'en 
Eb has his husking. I heard yesterday he was getting 
ready for it, and by the time the corn is fit to husk Homer 
Bland, the blind poet, and Bige Little, the big pack 
peddler, will be round. A husking wouldn't be a husking 
without 'em. Bige can make more fun and Homer sing 
more songs and tell more stories than any dozen others. All 
the gals will be there, even Miss Newbegin, tbe schoolmarm, 
who has more bows to her string, and who finds more red 
ears, than all the other gals. Meg'll be there, too. Meg's 
my gal and Meg is honest, if she is old Ike Irons' daugh- 
ter. Oh, yaou don't want to miss that husking!" 

"So the captain is chairman of the board," mused the 
other. "Well, I can scare him. On the whole the situ- 
ation opens favorable." 

Free Newbegin 's first day's work for many years gave 
him some aches and pains to which he had long been a 
stranger, but he came in to supper with a lighter heart 
than he had known for years. The deacon was uncom- 
monly agreeable, and the evening passed most pleasatly. 
At a later hour when the occupants of the house were sup- 
posed to be all asleep, a person might have been seen low- 
ering himself from a chamber window and stealing away 
down the hill at a rapid pace. At the same time a boy, 
who was none other than Abe, led a horse out of the door 
on the back side of the barn and, leading it silently down 


through the field, joined the man at the foot of the hill. 

"It's going to be a good night, considering there ain't 
any moon, Mr. Bidwell," greeted Abe. "I wouldn't take 
Bet out to-night, only a little later Jock Jenness and the 
rest will be using the track day and night." 

Abe followed a circuitous route to reach the race- 
course, so as not to pass through the village, which would 
make him more liable to be seen by some of the good peo- 
ple of the town. Thus they finally found themselves mov- 
ing along a cross road running at the head of the pond. 
The silence of midnight lay heavily on the dew-wet scene, 
even the hoof-strokes of Bet's iron-shod heel muffled by 
the sand. Under the growth pushing down close to the 
road on the one hand it was quite dark, though the treetops 
glistened with the silvery rays of the stars. Suddenly the 
stillness of the night was cut by the clear, edge-set words 
ringing out with resounding intonations : 

"Ship ahoy!" 

"It's Ken Fok'sle speaking his imaginary ship," said 
Abe. "Hark! and you will hear his reply," and Abe had 
barely concluded his speech before a stentorian voice rang 
on the scene: 

"Ay, ay, ahoy it is!" 

Then came the response more promptly than the first: 

"What ship is that and whither bound?" 

"The merchant ship Halcyon, Kenneth Fok'sle skip- 
per, bound for the markets of Injy with a cargo of general 

"Ay, ay, Cap'en Fok'sle, sail on. It's longv'yage that 
finds no port." 

"Ay, ay, sir," came the reply, growing fainter with 
each utterance, as if the speaker was being borne rapidly 
away into the distance. 

"You won't believe one man said all that, will you, Mr. 
Bidwell ? But Ken Fok'sle asked the questions and 
answered 'em. It being so clear to-night you do not see 
his beacon, but daown to the house Mrs. Fok'sle will keep 


a candle burning till morning, to light her lost boy home, 
as she says. Look! there goes the captain along the 
north shore of the pond." 

Free Newbegin caught sight of a stalwart figure mov- 
ing slowly along the rim of the woods that skirted that side 
of the sheet of water. Curious to catch a better sight of 
the mysterious man, he darted into the growth in that direc- 
tion, and got near enough to see that the other showed 
every appearance of a sea-faring man, from his garb to his 
rolling gait. He did not think it best, under the circum- 
stances, to address him, and while be looked after him with 
curious gaze the captain vanished in the gloom ahead. 

"You ought'r go daown and see his ship he's been so 
long building," declared Abe, when his companion had 
returned to him. "I believe it is about ready to launch." 

"I shall certainly call upon him some day," replied the 
prodigal, as they again moved quietly forward. The old 
race course was now soon reached, and the trial which fol- 
lowed was very satisfactory to both. Free Newbegin was 
horseman enough to realize that Bet promised something 
extraordinary in speed if properly managed and driven. 
He timed her as she sped around the track, with Abe upon 
her back, and the record was flattering. On their way 
home it was decided to get a light wagon in some way 
before the next practice. Fortunately they did not see any 
one who appeared to have discovered them, and Bet was 
returned to the barn without arousing the folks. The fol- 
lowing morning Deacon Goodwill was puzzled to know how 
it was the mare should sweat so standing in the barn on 
those cool nights, but concluded it was due to her lame 

"That boy sha'n't drive herag'in this fall," he declared. 
Then seeing his guest approaching he changed the topic by 
saying : 

"Abe tells me, mister, that ye can pull 's many beans 
's he. I guess to-day ye may scrub some of th' bushes in 
the lower field. I snum, I don't know but I shall hev to 


let up a leetle on yer bill." 

"I am very sorry, deacon, but I got so used up yester- 
day that I shall have to lay off to-day. I may take a trip 
to the village." 

This was said as a blind, for in reality Free Newbegin 
took a much longer journey, going first to Beetle Hill, and 
from there to an adjoining town, from which he returned 
with a large bundle under his arm. The result of his visit 
to the rival town of Sunset was not as perceptible, but it 
was likely to prove more ominous, as he had sought out 
and engaged the services of the deputy sheriff for the two 
towns to begin suit in their claim as soon as it was thought 
practical. This sheriff was Jock Jenness, and the zeal and 
enthusiasm that he showed in his eagerness to begin work 
in the matter was a surprise even to the sanguine claimant. 

Free Newbegin did not return to Deacon Goodwill's 
until late in the evening, and less than five minutes ahead 
of his friend. Thus they ate supper together. Abe was 
pleased to see them back, and when he had opportunity to 
speak with them alone he acknowledged that his father had 
been greatly concerned ovor their absence, declaring that 
they would never come back to pay their board bill. 

"If it hadn't been for that little trunk I don't know 
what he'd done. Seeing that sort of give him confidence. 
I told him you'd both be back to-night. He'd been after 
you in the morning if you hadn't come to-night," said Abe 
with a grin, as if pleased by the idea. Tired and footsore 
the twain immediately sought their room, when the prodi- 
gal asked : 

"Well, Leonard, what luck?" 

"Posting a letter is a simple matter enough, isn't it, if 
a fellow does have to tramp a little less than a hundred 
miles to do it. I had pretty hard luck in finding lodge and 
keep without a cent to my name, but I didn't sleep in a 
woodpile, though you probably saw that I brought back a 
two-days' appetite. What have you been doing ?" 

"Oh, choring round. Pulled beans for Abe yesterday; 


went down last night to see old Bet shake her foot. I tell 
you there is promise in her. I hope Abe will be able to 
win over to Coldbrook. His object is creditable, whatever 
his method. Like the rest he is uneasy, dissatisfied. I 
tell you I envy the little ant that climbs into his house by 
a window with all his household goods on his back. He is 
an example of contentedness. He has nothing and is 
contented ; give him but half a worm and he is satis- 
fied. But I didn't start out to preach a sermon. To-day I 
have been over to see Sunset's rival. Fortunately for us 
the sheriff, whom we may have occasion to use, is an inhab- 
itant of Beetle Hill, and still more fortunately he is that 
mouthy jockey, Jock Jenness. He is wild to begin suit, 
and he won't sleep a wink thinking of it to-night. By the 
way, as I was looking over the field to-day, as soon as we 
can get square with Sunset, we will rub out this old feud 
by uniting the towns. You as mayor and I as treasurer 
can manage the affairs for both as well as for one. By the 
way, the present selectmen are a certain hayseed called 
Cap'en Eb, chairman ; our pious and penurious landlord, 
second; Squire Newbegin, third in order, but first in all 
business. They meet to-morrow afternoon at two o'clock. 
Our letter will be promptly on hand. I think we had 
better arrange it so as to drop in on them at three. That 
will sort of clinch the nail." 
"So soon?" 
. "Why not ? Our copy books used to say that delays 
are dangerous. If you weaken one bit, you had better 
stay here and pull beans with Abe. The time has come to 
act. He only deserves the victory who goes in to win. 
Give me a good suit of clothes, a full stomach and I 
will defy the world with Tukestan thrown in to boot. If 
you have confidence in yoursef, one half of the battle is 
won before a gun is fired ; and if you have confidence in 
your ammunition the day is yours. Why, he who is master 
of himself is master of the world, with a title none dares 
to dispute. That is what I always admired in Napoleon. 


He may have been wrong half of the time — I claim a man's 
privilege to be wrong a part of the time — but he always 
stood up for himself. It counted, too, and when he met 
his victor that day was his in history. Waterloo belongs to 
Napoleon and not to Wellington. So it shall be with us. 
I have no fault to find with Mrs. Deacon's dinner, have 

"No, but I can't help deploring our clothes. This trip 
has given the finishing touches to mine. My outer sole 
has come nearer earth than I ever expect my inner soul 
will heaven." 

"That sounds like your old self, Leonard. A man is 
not half a man unless he is well dressed. So I have 
arranged to make up for this by procuring a new suit that 
is just to my liking." 

As he spoke Free began to open the huge bundle 
which had been lying in the corner unobserved by his com- 
panion. Then his friend saw him lay out on the bed first 
a coat and vest and pair of pants, all of the best broadcloth, 
stockings, under garments, and a white starched shirt that 
must have been the envy of Sarah Gooseberry. To crown 
the lot, he lifted up gingerly an elegant silk hat. Every 
garment was not only of the best quality but of the 
latest style. Leonard Quiver looked on in speechless 

"Speak, old boy, and let me know you have not lost 
your tongue. What do you think of them ?" 

"Where in the world did you get them ?" 

"As if that was of the prime importance. But I will 
assure you of a first-class dealer. Nothing here of your 
way -back style." 

"How in the world did you pay for them ? Where did 
you get the money?" 

"Money be burned — when the notes are too thin to be 
legible. It is only a makeshift anyway. Nerve is a man's 
real captive. With it he leads in business, he leads in dis- 
covery, he leads in conquest, and comes out at last the 


hero. Without it he is a failure, whatever money he 
may have to put in. I bought this suit of clothes with 
nerve, and when it was fairly in my possession I asked the 
old man in charge how often he settled with his manufac- 
turer, and he frankly acknowledged every thirty days. 
Then I generously offered to do as well by him. I never 
like to take an advantage of a man. If he had said sixty 
days I should have shown just as good grace in settling at 
the end of that time. You ought to have seen the look on 
his countenance, while I spent half, quite half, an hour of 
valuable time in pointing out to him some of the peculiar 
beauties of the credit system and how necessary it is to 
carry on business. But I do not regret a little missionary 
work now and then, for it is my doctrine that we are here 
to do good to one another. I apparently bewildered the 
old fellow a little with my argument, for I left him scratch- 
ing his head as if puzzled over some great problem that 
had presented a new phase to him. I think you will agree 
that I acted in good faith, and here is my proof," produc- 
ing, as he finished speaking, a second suit of clothes of 
almost equal equal texture and value of the first. All that 
Quiver could say, and it took him some time to collect his 
wits enough to stammer: 

"You're a whole brick wall, Reuben Rover. I never 
met your equal." 

"Never go back on a friend because he does not hap- 
pen to be present, and do not call me by that name. 
Please don your new outfit, and see how near my judgment 
has given you a fit. And while you are doing this I will 
put on mine." 

During the next five minutes the couple were busy 
exchanging their old clothes for these new suits, and at the 
end of that time a stranger would scarcely have recognized 
the erstwhile dusty pedestrians plodding along the country 
road on the afternoon that they had struck town. As if in 
anticipation of this transformation, Free Newbegin had 
borrowed the deacon's razor and given his face a clean 


shave, except for the silken mustache. Now, as he placed 
the silk hat on his shapely head, he stood before his com- 
panion a fine example of physical manhood. The gray 
hairs on the temple seemed to lend a sort of dignity that 
comes with age, and the deepening lines on his counte- 
nance afforded a gravity and firmness of expression lack- 
ing as yet on the features of his younger companion. 

"How do I look?" 

"Like a veritable conquering hero. You will fill the 
bill, Freeland Newbegin. Jove ! did you notice that 
speech ?" 

"Thank you. Now to pay my debts, and no man can 
say I ever cheated him out of a cent I could pay. You look 
superb, elegant. You are the beau ideal of a woman's eye, 
and if you do not capture the belle of Sunset I will fore- 
close my claim on the town. You are a worthy scion of 
the grand old Bidwell ancestry." 

Leonard Quiver, in his new suit, with ten years on his 
side of life, did present a beautiful specimen of the genus 

"I'll wager my new tile," remarked the chief plotter, 
"that Sunset will stand agape with wonder when we storm 
its citadel. Imagine us standing up before the old hay- 
seeds to-morrow afternoon to assert our claim to justice 
and human rights! Ay, we'll shake the poppy seeds from 
out of their eyes, and stir the old town to its very sky- 

(Begun in the July number; to be continued) 

Co tfje Winter J>un 

By Anson G. Osgood 

O thou, faint-glimmering orb in southern sky, 
Casting long shadows toward the frozen North, 

O once inclined to ride the heavens high, 

How changed since last thou gladdened the green earth 


The crested bird loud-calling through the dark 
Peers for thy light in vain. Aurora glows 

Too late, but later still we wait to mark 

The myriad diamonds flashing in the snows. 

As, tardy and ashamed, thou salliest forth 
Like one o'erslept. Shivering with the chill, 

The chill that settles down ere morning's birth, 
We watch thee scaring lowly leave the hill 

That skirts the East. Imploringly we turn 
To thy unwarming light. Unpitying seems 

Thy gaze. Those rays that once could scorch aud burn 
Scarce temper the fierce wind that howls and screams 

Among the naked trees. O'er all the land, 

Spread out in virgin whiteness, deep snows lay. 

They pile the roofs, hang eaves with jewels and 
Wind-driven mount the air in mimic spray. 

At noon thou scarce dost reach the highest goal 
Ere thou art hurrying on thy way to rest. 

With many a sigh burdening the anxious soul, 
We watch thee rolling toward the waiting West, 

Leaving us helpless, helpless and the prey 

Of demons of the dark. The cold steals down 

Exulting ere we see thou on thy way. 

On every hand the gathering shadows frown. 

And soon thou kindlest on the western peak 
Thy ruddy fire. The red reflection dyes 

The snowy fields like blood on wool. We speak — 
And then art gone. As a dull toiler hies 

Himself toward home, and there arrived, first, blows 
The dying embers on his hearth. To keep 

The flame he sits, but ere the fire glows, 
Dozing before the coals, he falls asleep. 

Such is thy course, O winter sun, but soon, 
As fabled gods of old triumphed at last, 

Thy strength returned again shall make thee known 
When reign of cold and darkness long is past. 

Thou wilt redeem us yet from these grim powers 
Banish these frosts and snows, bid discord cease. 

Thou wilt restore to us the grass and flowers, 
Call summer back again, and give us peace. 

Cfje Cbitor's tBmboto 

G. B. G. relates the following incident : Some twenty- 
five years ago a little boy of our acquaintance in Portland, 
Me., ran away from home on a circus day, and when he 
returned to the parental mansion told how he went to 
Eastern Promenade. He said he saw there an old man 
with white hair, who smilingly asked him his name and he 
told him. His parents said it was probably a wandering 
tramp, and that he ought never to talk to strangers who 
accosted him. The little fellow said he was sure this was 
no vagrant, but a gentleman. 

A few days after he again went without permission to 
the Promenade, and when he came back said he saw the 
same old man seated there. The man again pleasantly called 
him to his side, asked the name of his father and when 
told said, "I am acquainted with your father, tell him that 
you met me. My name is Henry \V. Longfellow, can yon 
remember it?" "Oh, yes," said the lad, "I know my 
father is acquainted with you, for I have seen a book on 
his table with your name on it." 

Now that the boy, grown to middle life, fully realizes 
the greatness of the good man who twice called him to his 
side, these incidents are a precious memory, illustrating as 
they do his gracious ways with children. 

The Bureau of Labor recently announced results of its 
investigation of wages and hours of labor in 1905. They 
show that the average wages per hour in the principal 
manufacturing and mechanical industries of the country 
were 1.6 per cent higher than in 1904; that the average 
hours of labor per week remained the same as in 1904, and 
that 6.3 per cent more persons were employed in the estab- 
lishments investigated. As there was no reduction in the 
average hours of labor per week, the average weekly earn- 
ings per employee were 1.6 per cent higher than in 1904. 
As there was an increase in the number of employees, as 
well as in the weekly earnings per employee, there was a 


48 the editor's window 

considerable increase in the weekly earnings of all the 
employees or, in other words, in the amount of the weekly 
payroll. There was an increase of 8 per cent in the estab- 
lishments investigated. In connection with this investiga- 
tion the Bureau announces statistics on the retail prices of 
food in 1905, as compared with previous years. It is stated 
that the retail prices of thirty principal articles of food 
were six tenths of one per cent higher in 1905 than in 
1904. The purchasing power of hourly wages, and also of 
weekly earnings per employee, as measured by retail prices 
of the thirty articles of food, was, therefore, 1 per cent 
higher in 1905 than in 1904. 

The report of the bureau says further: 

"The average wages per hour in 1905 were 18.9 per cent 
higher than the average for the ten-year period from 1890 to 
1899 inclusive. The number of employees was 33.6 per 
cent greater and the average hours of labor per week were 
4.1 per cent lower. The average earnings per week in 
1905 were 14 per cent higher than the average earnings per 
week during the ten years from 1890 to 1899. The average 
weekly earnings of all employees, that is the total amount 
of the payrolls, were 52.3 per cent higher in 1905 than the 
average during the ten-year period. 

"The retail prices of the principal articles of food, 
weighted accordingly to family consumption of the various 
articles, was 12.4 per cent higher in 1905 than was the 
average price for the ten years from 1890 to 1899. Com- 
pared with the average for the same ten-year period, the 
purchasing power of an hour's wages in 1905 was 5.8 per 
cent greater, and of a week's wages 1.4 per cent greater 
than the increase in purchasing power of hourly wages, 
because of the reduction of the hours of labor during the 

"The average prices of wheat bread, butter, cheese, 
chickens, corn meal, eggs, fresh fish, salt fish, milk, mut- 
ton and veal were higher in 1905 than in any other year of 
the sixteen-year period covered by this investigation." 



Granite ^tate |©aga?me 

Vol. III. FEBRUARY, 1907. No. 2. 

Pioneers of "Popular Utterature" 

New Hampshire Authors Among Them 
By George Waldo Browne 

£^T] N THE midst of the vast output of books to-day it is 
^IJ well to take a backward glance, now and then, that 
' we may the better forecast the future. While there 

may be those who take exception to the unpalatable fact, it 
is nevertheless an evident truth that the dime novel has at 
last gained an entrance into the upper strata of society. 
The child of the slums of a generation ago has outlived the 
stigma of his early environments; has exchanged his flimsy, 
gaudy garb for a more substantial and becoming attire ; has 
educated himself out of the idioms of the streets and the 
vernacular of new settlements to graduate with passable 
English ; has turned his back upon his unregenerate 
admirers and followers of former days to become the com- 
panion of those who scorned him in his youth ; in brief, he 
has forsaken the Bowery for the home of culture, the alley 
for the fashionable watering-place, the grocery corner for 
the summer hotel. But if born in lowly life we find that 
this same dime novel had a very respectable parentage, and 
there were good, honest names among his ancestry, who 
bear a very similar relation to our literature as the pioneers 
of the first homes in New England stand to the pioneers of 
progress in the nineteenth century's financial and political 

Books that now fall annually upon the markets as 
autumn leaves fall on the hillsides, covering fence and 



hedgerow, are but keeping time with the magazines and 
newspapers that serve to cultivate a quickening taste for 
this form of mental food. Going back to the period in our 
history when a very small shelf would hold the books of 
the most industrious collector, and the papers of the coun- 
try could be counted on the finger nails, the oppressions of 
a tyrannical government called forth eloquence of remon- 
strance that surprised Europe, and the continent was con- 
founded by the rhetoric and argument of the public 
speeches and printed documents of the thinkers and states- 
men of that stormy era, work that Lord Chatham acknowl- 
edged was "equal to the finest specimens of Greek or 
Roman literature." Such names of literati as Franklin, 
Washington, Henry, Adams, Jefferson, Otis, Marshall, 
Hamilton, Paine and others are unfading stars upon the 
historic sky of those times. 

These all belonged to political literature, in the main, 
and, while Great Britain reluctantly accepted their merits, 
as late as 1818 Sidney Smith declared that "there does not 
appear to be in America at this moment one man of any 
considerable talent." Still nearly a decade before this 
Charles Cotesworthy Pinckney had published a book of 
travels in France, which had made such an impression on 
English readers that Leigh Hunt was led to exclaim, "All 
the idle world is going to France!" 

But it was of fiction that I set out to speak, and in this 
line Charles Brockden Brown has the honor of being the 
first American to devote himself exclusively to literary 
work. His leading books were the novels "Wieland," 
"Ormond," "Arthur Mervyn," "Edgar Huntley," "Clara 
Howard," "Jane Talbot." He was born in Philadelphia in 
1 77 1 and died there in 18 10, eight years before the wit and 
wiseacre of Great Britain uttered his decision already 

The real pioneer in this field of literary work, and who 
gave this word as the title to his second successful work, 
was J. Fenimore Cooper, who began to write in 1818. The 


success of his purely American novels quickly awakened 
activity among publishers and would-be authors, but no 
one seemed to meet with any particular prosperity. Coop- 
er's novels were above the reach of the common people in 
price, while they were beyond them in what afforded their 
taste most pleasure. What was desired, as it proved when 
it was offered, were stories of adventure on sea and land, 
as Cooper had given, but without his detail of fo est lore 
and descriptions, which became tedious reading to many. 

The man to first catch the public interest in this direc- 
tion was Mr. Frederick Gleason of Boston, who was also 
the father of illustrated journalism in America. In speak- 
ing of this at one time he said : 

"As early as 1840 I conceived of the idea of giving at 
low prices such reading matter as it seemed to me the aver- 
age reader would demand, and would appeal to the great 
majority. Accordingly I entered into preparation with this 
purpose in view, and in 1842 I launched my first venture 
from the old Scollay building in Boston. It was a paper- 
covered book that sold for ten cents, and contained a com- 
plete novelette with several minor articles for 'filling.' 
This was received with so much promise that I concluded 
to give even more reading for the money, and in the fall of 
the same year I began the publication of 7be Flag of Our 
Union, the first story and literary paper in the country. 
Inside of ten years I had a circulation of nearly 100,000 
and an income of $25,000 from it. In the midst of this 
success I originated the idea of publishing an illustrated 
paper of from sixteen to twenty-four pages weekly, the 
descriptive matter to be accompanied by the best wood 
cuts and engravings to be obtained. There was no publi- 
cation of this kind in the country at that time. My new 
venture was an immediate success, and when I sold out in 
1854 I na ci an actual circulation of 110,000 copies weekly. 
The Flag had nearly as many, and my income from the two 
was $50,000 a year." 


This was his modest account of himself at the zenith 
of his success. Soon after selling out his very profitable 
publishing business in Boston, with a view to retiring from 
active duties, he removed to New York, where he fell into 
the hands of sharpers and within two years he lost his 
handsome fortune. At the time I knew him he was back 
in Boston, located first on Washington street and then on 
the top floor of a building on Summer street, trying to 
make a living from publishing the Home Circle and Glea- 
son's Monthly Companion. But he appeared now to a new 
generation to whom his name came as a stranger, and after 
a futile experience of something like ten years he was 
obliged to abandon his undertaking. He passed the last 
few years of his life at the Home for Indigent Business 
Men, forgotten by those who had known him a third of a 
century before, when he had retired from his first venture, 
rich, honored, and his name a household word throughout 
the land. I knew him only in his days of adversity, when 
ill-fortune had in a measure saddened a temperament natur- 
ally genial, but he was cordial in o'emeanor and with a 
frankness in his business relations that was extremely 
pleasant. He had a sturdy, well-knit figure of medium 
height, thinning gray hair and iron-gray mustache, trimmed 
rather short, which lent dignity to his regular features, and 
bore evidence that in his prime he must have possessed a 
handsome countenance as well as those sterling qualities of 
manhood which had afforded him foundation for his earlier 

It should be borne in mind that at the time he was 
publishing his Illustrated Drawing Room Companion, the 
Harper Brothers were issuing their Weekly Journal of Civi- 
lisation without pictures. Among the engravers who were 
employed by Mr. Gleason was Henry Carter, since better 
known under his trade-mark of Frank Leslie, who, upon 
leaving his Boston employer, carried to New York the idea 
of illustrating a weekly paper. In company with a man 
named Beach he started a paper of that class, though 



greatly inferior to Mr. Gleason's periodical. Then the 
Harpers began to illustrate, and Frank Leslie's Illustrated 
Newspaper followed. Meanwhile Mr. Gleason's successor 
failed to keep the Boston illustrated weekly up to the 
standard he had, and he was finally forced to abandon a 
business that had been so fruitful to its original owner. 
This failure served to open a clearer way for the New York 
rivals, who had come to stay. 

Mr. Gleason employed on his force of workmen two 
men who soon began to lay the plans for a publication 
house of their own. This twain took into partnership 
another, afterwards noted as an author, so the name of the 
new publishing concern became Elliott, Thomes & Talbot. 
They were young men, full of new ideas and the vigor to 
carry them out. In a short time three or four literary 
papers were placed on the market, the most noteworthy of 
these being The American Union, Line of 'Battleship, and 
True Flag. The first of these was not fairly established 
before this enterprising firm formulated the scheme of run- 
ning serial stories instead of those that could be given com- 
plete in one number. The plan was to devote all, or nearly 
all, of the space to one story and finish it in four weeks, 
when the numbers could be bound into one part and sold 
as a complete article. This publication was called the 
Weekly Novelette, and was finally sold bound in paper cov- 
ers as the Ten-Cent Novelette. It was a quarto in form, 
consisted of sixty-four pages, illustrated with four or more 
woodcuts and placed in a green cover. It appears to have 
been a success from the outset. But while it had ready 
buyers, it had the failing of being unweildy in size and 
shape. This led the enterprising publishers to reduce the 
size of its pages, making up in number for this change, and 
publish the complete story as a Ten-Cent Novelette. It 
was a i2mo now, contained over one hundred pages, was 
well printed, and generally had one illustration. This was 
the original from which a few years later sprang the dime 


novel, when New York again became a follower if not an 

Messrs. Elliott, Thomes & Talbot, having begun in 
earnest, early in their undertaking looked about to find 
proper persons to furnish them literary material for these 
forthcoming publications. Something was needed that 
should appeal at once to the masses of readers, having no 
objectionable features, and be capable of sustaining an inter- 
est to the closing chapter. Mr. Thomes had been a sea-far- 
ing man, and he had met one who he believed was fitted to 
do a considerable part in the supply of this matter. This 
young man w T as thus invited to try his hand, or, more 
strictly speaking, brain, in the new venture, and Sylvanus 
Cobb, Jr., began to contribute his inimitable stories of sea 
life, which were in themselves sufficient to have insured the 
success of the enterprise. Soon showing an aptitude in 
other directions, he began to write stories of border life 
under the pseudonyms of Dr. J. H. Robinson and Dr. S. 
LeCompton Smith. His sea tales becoming rather profuse 
for one name, he assumed that of Austin Burdick to father 
some of his voluminous productions. 

Mr. Cobb was the son of the noted Universalist 
preacher by the same name, and he belonged to a highly 
respected family. His home was in Norway, Me., in a 
back district quiet and retired, an ideal spot for a person of 
his temperament. When he had established a wide reputa- 
tion with this Boston house, and Robert Bonner was about to 
start a rival in this field, the New York Ledger, he selected 
Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., to become a staff contributor. The 
result was that widely advertised and ever-popular serial, 
"The Gunmaker of Moscow," which ran for eight weeks 
and for which Mr. Cobb received two hundred dollars an 
installment. It was the first story I ever read and the 
impression it made upon my youthful mind lingers yet, 
doing more than anything else toward influencing me in 
the same line of work. This was followed by the "Storm 
Secret," "Orion the Gold-Beater," "Karmel, the Scout," 


Bion, the Wanderer," "Glendower, or the North Sea 
Rover," "Prophet of Palmyra." "The Unknown Crusader," 
and others with equally as striking titles. He also began 
to contribute "Forest Sketches," under the pseudonym of 
Col. Walter B. Dunlap. He continued with the Ledger 
until his decease, having written two or three hundred 
serials and unnumbered short stories and anecdotes, of 
which he seemed to have an unlimited store. His regular 
salary was equal to that received by our United States sen- 
ators. He was a tall, slender, handsome, kindly natured 
man, who was loved by all who knew him. In his earlier 
manhood he was interested in military matters, and was 
captain of a company of militia before the Civil W r ar, and 
many are the pithy reminiscences related of him. He was 
a very forcible temperance speaker. In his later years he 
lived in Boston. It is told of him that when asked why he 
did not write books instead of his usual work, he replied : 
"It is the nature of a cob to produce a cereal." 

It is an interesting fact to note that the scenes of his 
very successful "Forest Sketches" were laid largely in the 
region of the White Mountains, and many of the incidents 
he depicted in other stories were taken from the people and 
history of our state. Mr. Cobb was a fluent writer, who 
spent little time in perfecting his style. As he summed up 
his work he wrote in the thirty-one years that he contrib- 
uted to the New York Ledger 89,544 large pages of manu- 
script. On May 19, 1887, sitting at his desk at Hyde Park, 
Mass., he made the following entry in his note book: 
"Wrote a sketch, 'J ac ^'s Romance,' 21% pages, and will 
now pull up for awhile." This was his last story. 

Yet another writer who laid his foundation here was a 
New Hampshire boy named Thomas Currier, "Doc," as he 
was familiarly called by his associates, or "Maurice Sil- 
lingsby," as he was known to his readers. He wrote a fine 
temperance story, and later in life became one of the best 
delineators of wild western life. He was a genial, whole- 
souled fellow. Two more New Hampshire authors won their 


first recognition here, Clara Augusta Jones, better known as 
"Clara Augusta," and Col. Arthur L. Meserve, who wrote 
under more than a dozen pen names, and used to turn out 
a novel of from fifty to sixty thousand words in a week. 
He at one time wrote every alternate number of Munro's 
"Ten-Cent Novels." Among his pseudonyms were "Burke 
Brentford," "Capt. L. C. Carleton," "L. Augustus Jones." 
Col. Arthur Livermore Meserve was the only son of 
Isaac and Louisa (Garland) Meserve, and he came from 
talented ancestors. The Meserves were Huguenots who 
were driven from France on account of their religion. 
They first went to the Isle of Jersey, and from there to 
Portsmouth, N. H., about 1638. They were active in the 
border wars of New England. Arthur wrote his first 
sketch for the Olive Branch when he was only fifteen. 
Besides his literary work, he was active for several years in 
political affairs, holding many positions of trust and honor, 
winning his title on the staff of Governor Weston. He 
never married, living with his sister until his death, Decem- 
ber 13, 1896. He was one of the handsomest men I ever 
met, tall and superb of figure, and his cordiality won for 
him friends wherever he was known. 

(To be continued.) 

ifamtltar Jkene m ^eto ^ampsfjtre 

By George Bancroft Griffith 

It waits to impale the dying sun, 

That perfect cone uprising there; 
And we daily gaze to see it done 

As the last flash blazes high in air ! 

But lo ! Day's monarch comes again, — 
The old crag's feet is wreathed in pine, — 

Its head, snow-crested, wears no stain, 

While Sol, full-globed, doth proudly shine. 




E rz /ifc> 

: .>St. 







!'^ >■ 

■ ■'-, r 


■■■'■ .. ->, l* ; W ii 

Congregational CfmrcftfS in «$eto 

A Glimpse at the Beginnings 
By Rev. Thomas Chalmers 

/^^HE Congregational Church in New Hampshire is 
\ K^j older than the state itself — older even than the 
^*r r0 y a i province or colony of New Hampshire out 
of which the state was organized. It is almost as old as 
the royal grant made to Mason and Gorges in the early 
part of the seventeenth century. The brothers, Edward 
and William Hilton were fish dealers in London and emi- 
grated to America, settling eventually at Dover in the 
spring of 1623, the year after the grant to Mason and 
Gorges. They had lived in America a considerable time 
before that grant was made. 

William Hilton was a member of the Plymouth Colony 
in 162 1, as shown by a letter of his written "at New Pli- 
moth in New England," in that year, to a cousin in Eng- 
land. The colony at Plymouth had been in existence 
barely a year and had undergone unutterable suffering, yet 
the cheerful tone of this letter shows William Hilton to 
have been a loyal and hearty member of the Pilgrim Col- 
ony and a stanch participant in their religious habits and 

Our Companie are for most Part very religious honest People: The 
Word of God sincerely taught vs every Sabbath ; so that I know not any- 
thing a contented mind can here want. I desire your friendly care to send 
my Wife and Children to me where I wish all the Friends I have in Eng- 
land, and so I rest, 

Your loving Kinsman, 




It is presumable that this man who joined his brother 
Edward in a settlement at Dover two years later carried 
his Pilgrim opinions with him, but the exceedingly slow 
growth of the settlement, with other causes, delayed the 
organization of the church. The inhabitants were few, 
only three houses had been erected in 163 1, and no encour- 
agement was given to religion by the promoters in England 
until the territory passed into the hands of Lords Say and 
Brooke, George Willys and William Whiting. Under the 
patronage of these earnest men a new company of Puritans 
was added to the Dover settlement in 1633. The real 
ecclesiastical history of New Hampshire begins with the 
arrival of these men. A member of this company was a 
young graduate of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, William 
Leveridge by name, "An able and Worthy Puritan minis- 
ter." During his ministry at Dover, which was probably 
his first parish, the first meeting-house was built on Dover 
Neck. The outline of the old building is clearly indicated 
yet, even to the sentry boxes provided for protection 
against surprises by the Indians. The site of this old 
meeting-house was recently purchased by Deacon E. A. 
Brown and presented to the First Parish Church at Dover. 
From 1633 to 1638 the settlement at Dover was supplied 
with both meeting-house and ministry, but the church was 
not formally organized till under the ministry of Hanserd 
Knollys (Knowles) in December, 1638. The Dover church, 
though unfortunate in some of its earlier pastors, has been 
honored with a long line of able and educated ministers. 
Jeremy Belknap, the greatest student of the early history 
of New Hampshire, was its pastor for nineteen years. 

Though the church in Dover is the oldest church with 
a continuous history organized on New Hampshire soil, it 
was organized a few months later than the Rev. John 
Wheelwright's church at Exeter. But the Exeter church 
was soon broken up by the Massachusetts authorities, and 
cannot be said to have had a continuous existence. There 
is one other church in the state, having a continuous his- 


tory, older than the Dover church, but it was not organized 
on New Hampshire soil. The Congregational church at 
Hampton was organized at Lynn, Mass. The Rev. 
Stephen Bachiler had come from England to Lynn and had 
become pastor of the church there. As the result of 
church troubles, which were much more common in those 
days than now, he asked for dismission for himself and 
friends from the Lynn church. The request was granted. 
He and his friends at once organized themselves into a new 
churrh. The people at Lynn objected to two rival churches 
in one small community, and Mr. Bachiler and his friends, 
in the exercise of remarkably good sense, moved to New 
Hampshire. Such was the origin of the town and church 
of Hampton in 1638. 

Portsmouth, or Strawberry Bank, was settled about as 
early as Dover, but the church life there had a much later 
development. No regular Christian ministry seems to have 
been provided for before 1658. It was in this year that a 
very energetic man, named Joshua Moody, was called to 
minister to the Portsmouth church. The chief part of his 
ministry fell on evil days for the Puritan conscience. 
Cromwell, the great Protector not only of the Common- 
wealth of England but of the Puritan conscience through- 
out the world, died the very year Moody entered upon his 
Portsmouth ministry. Governor Cranfield, after the "Res- 
toration" under Charles II. issued an order declaring that 
all persons desiring to partake of the Lord's Supper accord- 
ing to the liturgy of the Anglican church should be accom- 
modated in the Congregational meeting-house. The gov- 
ernor then notified Pastor Moody that he and a couple of 
his friends would partake of the communion after the 
Anglican fashion on the following Sunday. Mr. Moody 
denied the right of the governor to dictate the forms of 
church worship and refused to administer the communion 
in any other than the usual Congregational form. Where- 
upon the high-handed governor, knowing that he had a like- 
minded king back of him, threw the minister into prison at 


New Castle, where he languished for thirteen weeks. A 
letter of Mr. Moody's, written from his jail to a fellow 
minister at Rowley, Mass., exhibits about as sweet, unselfish 
and Christian spirit as we shall find anywhere. 

"Oh, consider that my poor flock have fasted about 
four days and must now be an hungred. Have pity upon 
them, have pity upon them, oh, thou my friend, and when 
you have taken y'r turn we shall hope for some other. 
Let this good work for the house of God be done, that you 
may be blest of God for good. You will thereby not only 
visit me in prison, but feed a great multitude of the hungry 
and thirsty little ones in Christ, which will be accounted 
for in that day." 

It was in preparation for this man's ministry that the 
Portsmouth town meeting: "ordered a eagre to be made to 
punish those who slept or took tobacco on the Lord's day 
during public worship!" The Portsmouth church has also 
been greatly honored by a long line of learned and eminent 

Another one of the older churches in the state is the 
First Church at Nashua. Its history runs back to the 
seventeenth century, to the church in Dunstable, Mass. 
It was from this parish that Lovell led his redoubtable band 
of pioneers to that memorable fight agains the Pequaket 
Indians on the shores of Lovell's Pond. 

The parent Congregational churches of the state in 
every section date back to the incorporation and organiza- 
tion of the towns. The tides of migration moved more 
slowly in those days than now. The settlement of the 
Merrimack valley came almost a hundred years later than 
the Atlantic coast settlements. The churches in the Mer- 
rimack valley are much younger, therefore, than those in 
the eastern part of the state. The First Church in Con- 
cord was organized in 1730, nearly a hundred years after 
the meeting-house was built at Dover Neck. The first 
step toward building a meeting-house at Tyngstown, within 
the present territory of the City of Manchester, was taken in 


1738, exactly a hundred years after the organization of the 
churches at Dover, Exeter and Hampton. The records of 
Tyngstovvn contain an interesting account of the expenses 
accompanying the raising of the meeting-house. Here are 
the first two items : 

To Joseph Blanchard for Rum & Provisions 2 — 15 — 3 
To the Rev'd M'r Thomas Parker 2 — o — o 

This is a stunning blow to our respect for the piety of our 
fathers. When it came to "Rum and Provisions," preach- 
ing seems to have taken second place. Another item in 
this account bears lasting testimony to the fishing skill of 
John Stark's father — 
To Archebald Stark for a Salmon o — 9 — o 

The Tyngstown colony was abortive and was displaced 
by the Scotch-Irish colony of Derryfield out of which grew 
the First Congregational Church and its flourishing daugh- 
ters in Manchester. In many of the towns the Congrega- 
tional churches were a part of the corporate life of the town 
until far into the early part of the last century. Even in 
the town of Manchester, where in the early days the church 
influence was weak, the town meeting did not cast off the 
support of the church by taxation till 1814. For the March 
town meeting of that year the fourth article in the warrant 
was, "to see how much money the Town will raise for 
preaching the present year and employ Mr. Smith as 

There were two parties in the town — the town church 
party and the disestablishment party. Up to this time the 
former had been generally strong enough to carry their 
purposes. This meeting was to record their permanent 
defeat. Mr. Smith was on hand at the meeting and the 
church party scored the first point by carrying a vote that 
"Henery T. Smith make a short prayer." But the dis- 
senters were deaf to eloquence, whether of prayer or plain 
speech, and when the fourth article was reached "motion 
was made to dismiss the forth article in the warrant, but 


did not carry at that time." Then the contestants took a 
breathing spell, apparently for electioneering purposes. 
We can only guess what was said and done. The old town 
clerks, silent now, were also very laconic in their minutes. 
We only read : 

"Afterwards motion was again made to dismiss the 
fourth article, and was voted to dismiss the same." 

The church party could not reconcile themselves to 
that awful action. It seemed like an abandonment of God. 
The boisterousness subsided and we can imagine that the 
discussion became serious, solemn, prophetic. We read all 
this between the lines, for there is no minute to aid us 
except these tragic words : 

"Voted that the two last votes be arrased out and 
begun annew on the forth article." 

This seems to be a victory for the church party, but it 
is not. It is only the willingness of the disestablishment 
party to give their opponents another chance, for the min- 
ute goes right on to say, "and on motion being made to 
dismiss the fouth article it was voted to dismiss the 

Disestablishment was a blessing to the Congregational 
churches of the state. It marked the beginning of an era 
of missionary ardor such as the churches had never known. 
The New Hampshire Missionary Society, now our New 
Hampshire Home Missionary Society, organized at the 
threshhold of the last century, has throughout its whole 
history ranked as one of the most efficient organizations of 
its kind in the country. The story of the founding and 
growth of Dartmouth College would fall within the scope 
of an account of New Hampshire Congregationalism. But 
if I undertake to write a complete history of my church in 
the Granite State I would be undertaking more than these 
pages or my own powers admit. We have simply taken a 
glimpse at the beginnings of things. 


By L. Direxa Stearns 

The New Year stands before us, 

Its pages all unread, 
Its days all clean and spotless, 

Its sorrows all unsaid. 

We must read it day by day, 
Page by page, and line by line. 

Here a dash and there a pause, 
We shall learn it all in time. 

Not a chapter may we skip, — 
God has fashioned all with care. 

Rain or shine, or cold or gray, 
His eternal love is there. 

We can fill the days with sunshine, 
We can keep them clean and bright. 

We can look beyond the shadows, 
To where gleams a ray of light. 

For our Father turns the pages, 
While the shadows rise and fall. 

We must read them calmly, — bravely, 
For His love is over all. 


B 2fop of 76 

The Story of the Youngest Soldier of the Army of the 


By Victor St. Clair 

/^N^HE War for American Independence called forth 
' w| . some of the most notable examples of heroism 
^^ that history records. The colonists were battling 
for a just cause, and not less for their homes, so it is little 
wonder every man might be termed a patriot. Not only 
were the men imbued with the spirit of patriotism, but the 
women and boys and girls were as brave and earnest as 
they. It was this undaunted will that enabled the shat- 
tered troops of Bunker Hill to rally again, that kept up the 
drooping spirits of the ragged veterans of Valley Forge ; 
ay, that would not permit the army, north or south, to 
falter until the glorious victory of Yorktown had been 

Among the youngest to espouse the cause of liberty 
was little Richard Jones. He was but a month and a few 
days over nine years old when the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence was given to the world, and he soon afterwards 
enlisted to Hartford, Conn., for a term of three years, 
becoming the youngest soldier on the pay-roll of the entire 
army. In order to make my record as complete as possible 
I wish to add that he was a native of Colchester of that 
state, and that he joined Captain James Watson's company 
of the Third Conneticut Regiment. 

Considering him too young to carry a musket, Richard 
or Dick, as he was familiarly called, was instructed to play 
the fife, which he did with much satisfaction to all. 

No regiment in those times escaped its share of hard 
work, you may be assured, and the Third left as good a 


A BOY OF '76 65 

record as any. But the bravest sometimes meet with mis- 
fortunes and, while on a detail to prevent some lumber 
from falling into the hands of the enemy, Captain Watson 
and half a dozen others were surprised and captured by 
the English. Among the prisoners was our young hero, 
who, nothing daunted by his ill-fortune, proved much the 
coolest of the entire party, which was at once taken to the 
British headquarters at Newport. 

Upon their arrival there no time was lost in taking the 
captives before the commander for examination. Naturally 
the captain was ordered forward first, when Dick, anxious 
to learn what fate had in store for them, followed his 

"So you have come here to be taught a lesson in good 
discipline, have you, you rebel dog ?" demanded the pom- 
pous commander of Captain Watson, as the latter stood 
before him. But ere he could reply the British officer, 
catching sight of Dick, demanded with increased fury : 

"Who is this little stripling? W r ho are you, boy, and 
what are you doing here?" 

Proudly straightening his diminutive figure, Dick 
replied before the officer who had brought him there could 
speak : 

"I am one of King Hancock's men and I am fighting 
for him." 

"The deuce you are ! I should like to see a specimen 
of your fighting." 

'"You can, sir," replied Dick, still undaunted. 

"Dare you fight one of King George's men?" 

"Yes, sir," was the prompt reply." 

"But what do you think you could do with him, such a 
little rat as you ? Why, we have men in our ranks," put- 
ting a strong emphasis on the word men. 

"All men are boys first, sir." 

The officer showed that he was interested, if not 
pleased, at the boldness of the young patriot and, looking 
over the group gathered the place, he pointed to the 

66 A BOY OF '76 

boatswain's boy, who was several years older and consider- 
ably larger, saying : 

"Have you the courage to fight him for your King 

Giving the young Britisher a hasty survey, Dick 
replied : 

"Yes, sir; and if I don't whip him it will be because 
he is bigger than I am." 

"Do you hear that, Peavey?" asked the officer, turning 
to the young Briton. "Strip and battle for your king. 
Get ready, both of you." 

Very little time was lost in preparation. As soon as 
the English lad had divested himself of all superfluous 
clothing Dick was in readiness for him, and the youthful 
twain sprang at once to "rough and tumble" work. It was 
soon evident that, owing to his advantage in years, the 
British boy was stronger than the doughty little rebel, but 
this was offset by the other's quicker motions, so they soon 
showed that they were pretty evenly matched. 

At the first onset Dick was dashed back against the 
wall. It looked as though he was going to be worsted at 
the beginning, and high and clear rang the cry : 

"King George to the front ! Hurrah for King 

But the echoes of this shout had not died away before 
the little rebel had escaped the other's clutch and, flinging 
him aside, stood free from him. Then again they rushed 
at each other, and Dick came so near flooring his antagonist 
that Captain Watson and his companions could not refrain 
from exclaiming: 

"Hurrah for King Hancock!" 

The next moment Dick's foot slipped, and he was 
hurled headlong to the floor, Again the shouts for King 
George filled the building. But if down Dick was not 
overpowered, and before his rival could reach him he was 
on his feet again, ready to renew the struggle. 

On the alert against a repetition of his blunder, Dick 

A BOY OF '76 67 

was not to be caught off his guard again, though twice did 
the British boy, who was showing himself to be made of 
good stuff, barely missed dashing him to the floor. 

All this was evened by Dick, who as many times 
almost threw his enemy. So it began to look as if neither 
side was going to win and the spectators, forgetting their 
hostility, watched the conflict with the liveliest interest 
imaginable, each side cheering on its favorite until the old 
building rang with enthusiasm. 

Now little Dick was fired by a determination never to 
give up so long as he could stand alone, while his adver- 
sary was beginning to feel the effects of the protracted 
struggle. The young rebel realized that his antagonist was 
weakening and, watching his opportunity, he suddenly 
brought his foot around behind his knees with so much 
force that Peavey was tumbled over upon the floor. 

"Quick! don't let the rebel pin you down!" cried his 
friends, but Dick was already lying prone across him, and 
the young Briton found himself unable to rise. 

"Do you give up?" demanded Dick between his 
clenched teeth. ' 4 I shall press harder if — " 

"Let go ! I give up!" gasped the other. 

Amid an intense silence Dick arose to his feet, meet- 
ing the gaze of the English commander as calmly as if he 
had done nothing unusual. 

"You are a plucky one," declared the officer at last. 
"Your victory has won for you your release. Begone! But 
remember, if you fall into my hands again you will not fare 
so well." 

Bowing respectfully, Dick went away, wishing he 
might do something to save his friends. Fortunately he 
afterwards assisted them in effecting their escape. I do 
aot know the full history of Dick's following adventures, 
but it is certain he did not fail to do his duty wherever his 
lot fell. 

Cfje Penacoofc'S ifaretoeE to Hake 

By Martha H. Abbott 

Dr. John D. Quackenbos thinks that Sunapee is derived from Indian 
words signifying "Wild Goose Water," and implying that it was a hunting 
resort for the Penacook Indians, when the wildfowl, journeying southward 
in the autumn, rested upon its bosom. After the French and Indian War 
the Penacooks left the region, leaving no history in Sunapee. — Author. 

The great chief of the Penacooks 

Stood his young braves beside ; 
His eagle eye and stalwart frame 

His long, long life belied. 
The blue hills and the valleys fair, 

The lakes and streamlets bright 
Were all his own, and none were there, 

To doubt the red man's right. 

He said, "By signs that fail me not, 

By wax and wane of moon, 
I know the wild fowls, summering north, 

Come flying backward soon. 
Now go we to our northern lake, 

To Wild Goose Water go ; 
The fatted birds by scores shall fall, 

Before our bended bow." 

So, at his word, the Penacooks 

Took their unerring way ; 
They rowed through streams their light canoes, 

They scaled the ledges gray, 



They trailed where Autumn's conquering king 

His crimson banners flung, 
In forest depths, where never yet 

The woodman's axe had run.g 

At last the lovely, sun-kissed lake, 

The "Wild Goose Water," bright, 
Girt round with blue hills, forest-crowned. 

Burst on their joyous sight. 
Upon its shores their wigwams rose, 

They came unto their own ; 
The startled wild things fled away, 

And left them, lords alone. 

And when the wild fowls, coming from 

Their Arctic summering, 
By thousands lit upon the lake, 

To rest the weary wing, 
Its waters, far around, were red, 

With more than sunset's hue, 
And many a bright bird iose no more, 

The red man's aim was true. 

Wild were the revels of the tribe, 

But once the chief, at night, 
In woodland depths, lit only by 

The pale moon's spectral light, 
Met face to face a stranger foe ; 

No gaudy plumes he wore, 
No scalp locks told of prowess great, 

No tomahawk he bore; 

But there was something in his face 

Which, as the chieftain gazed, 
In wonder stayed the murderous hand, 

Above his head upraised. 
In one brief look the old chief saw 

Beyond the human sight, 
And the long vista of the years 

Stretched out before him bright. 

He saw the great trees he had loved 

Sway by the woodman's blows, 
The barren wilderness grow fair, 

And blossom as the rose, 
The wheels of busy factories. 

Within his rivers plied, 
He saw the great life-freighted ships 

Upon his waters ride. 

He looked on gilded capitols, 

And churches tall and grand, 
And iron horses, everywhere, 

Went rushing o'er his land ; 
And ever the hand at helm and brake, 

The hand that curbed with might, — 
That swayed with a resistless strength — 

He saw that hand was white! 

The old chief's sinewy frame relaxed, 

Gone was his former pride, 
The arm that poised the tomahawk, 

Fell nerveless at his side, 
With face wrapt in his blanket folds, 

And, bent with bitter woe, 
He glided silently away, — 

Unharmed his paleface foe. 

No sound disturbed the midnight calm, 

But when the morning broke, 
In all that region roundabout 

There curled no wigwam smoke, 
And on its silver-crested wave, 

And on its pebbly shore, 
The lovely " Wild Goose Water " knew 

The Penacooks no more. 


Winter Cheer 

By The Nestor of the Farms 

MONG the oldtime pictures that rise on the wall of 
memory I think of none brighter or more lasting 
than that which brings before the mind's eye some 
familiar winter scene. Summer has its charm — had them 
in the days gone by. They outnumber the other two to 
one, ay, it may be, ten to one, but their frequency makes 
them common and common things lose their attraction. A 
friend who had lived several years on the Hawaiian Islands 
was wont to complain of the lack of change in the climate. 
Every day was fair, and its forecast was assured in the yes- 
terday that preceded it. Six days of storm are forgotten 
in the sunlight of one bright day. Seven days of sunshine 
become gloomy because of their monotony. 

Winter usually opened its guns at Thanksgiving time, 
and thus its very coming was hailed with rejoicing and 
feasting. This was a happy omen, and what comes under 
such pleasant auspices cannot other than afford its happy, 
as well as its trying, hours. There is no day in June 
fraught with greater delight than a sunny day in winter. 

WTiile the farmer found enough to occupy his time dur- 
ing the short days of the white season, with caring for his 
stock, drawing his annual supply of firewood, and, it might be, 
in getting to the mill a sufficient number of logs to do his 
repairing upon the buildings, he was not obliged to fret nor 
make long days out of doors. In nearly all cases the moving 
power was the ox team, and to me there is no more pictur- 
esque sight than three or four pairs of cattle yoked together 
and patiently wending their way along some snow trodden 



path silently over hill and through valley, the clinking of a 
loosened chain the only sound to break the silence of the 

I have a warm place in my heart for the ox. No 
nobler example of fidelity and loyalty to duty was to be 
found in the days of our sturdy ancestors than the sturdy 
oxen, tugging in the logging lot at their huge load until the 
yoke creaked and groaned uuder the pressure, and it might 
be until the strong iron chain snapped with a report like a 
gun, the pieces of the flawy link flying rods away, while 
they stopped with innocent unconcern, ready to start again 
when the break should have been repaired, showing no 
signs of balking or of vexation. Always chewing their 
cuds complacently, if allowed a brief respite, in the heat of 
the summer sun running their great red tongues out for a 
breath of fresh air as they panted under their burden, or 
bravely trudging along in the cold weather of winter, with 
long icicles hanging from their hairy lips, they were ever 
the same patient, reliable servants. 

The work in the clearing allowing a day's respite, this 
faithful twain would be selected to become the slow but 
safe steeds with which to move commodities from one set- 
tlement to another. It was no uncommon sight to see one 
of them wending his way toward some distant mill, loaded 
with the husbandman's grain, or, more gaily bedecked, as 
fitted the auspicious occasion, the proud bearer of the fair 
and chosen one of some bridal party. The noble ox went 
with the hardy pioneer into the wilderness, a fit companion, 
and with him he silently faded away, until now only an 
occasional kindred of his remains to remind us of his use- 
fulness. Long live the memory of the pioneer's ox!* 

Among the pleasant scenes that come back to the 
searching mind is that boyish undertaking of bringing in 

♦The first cattle were introduced into the Plymouth colony in 1624, though a hundred 
head had already been imported by the Massachusetts Bay Company. The first cattle in the 
province of New Hampshire were imported by John Mason and his associates in 1631. 
From that time the cow, for the food she supplied the families, and the ox, for his work, 
became important factors in pioneer life. — Author. 



if - /] 

^ V 







the Christmas green. Suitable decorations must be obtained 
for the big, old-fashioned kitchen, which had been set apart 
for this happy occasion and the boys sent into the woods 
to procure the needed evergreen. Without loss of time 
the half-tamed steers were yoked and hitched to the small 
sled made for them. Then off to the forest half a mile 
away went boys and steers and sled, following, it might be, 
the log path to the "further woods," or plowing through 
the deep snow upon an independent course. Be that as it 
might, the green powdered with white usually came in. 
What merry times followed ! 

Another scene even more vivid in the recollection than 
that was the homely, exciting task, half work, half play, 
of breaking the roads following a heavy snow storm. With 
the passing of the ox this has become a memory as far as 
the oldtime picturesque aspect is concerned. Was there 
more snow then than now ? I have seen the roads filled to 
the tops of the fences, while at places the snow would be 
piled into wind trodden drifts, from ten to fifteen feet high, 
solid enough to hold the weight of a heavy man. 

As soon as the storm had cleared away the farmers 
would begin to yoke up their cattle and, as it was the gen- 
eral custom for whole districts to unite, I have known as 
many as thirty pairs of oxen and steers in one team. Then 
was the time the boys would yoke the young cattle they 
delighted to call theirs and put them in the long procession 
with the others. Perhaps these steers had never been 
yoked before, when there would be an exciting time to get 
them into their places, but once in the team they could not 
get away. Ah, that was a proud moment to the boyish 
owner when he was allowed to take a goad stick and help 
guide the long line of animals, which seemed to catch 
something of the spirit of the occasion as they plunged 
furiously forward through the deep snow until only the long 
horns of the leaders could be seen ! Or anon coming out 
of the deeper drifts they would look like a long chain with 
huge white links being drawn over the snowy surface ! 


A heavy sled would be selected to help make the path, 
while a plow would be fastened to either side and a big log 
to the rear end. Upon the last as many as could stand 
there would take their position, so as to keep the log from 
rising on the top of the snow Then others would ride on 
the sled, having the shovels handy in case a drift should be 
found too hard from the recent blow for the oxen to wade 

All the time the voices of noisy teamsters, our boys 
among the rest, were keeping up an incessant uproar of 
cries. "Gee, Buck! get your leg back over the chain!!" 
"Get up there, Bright, you lazy-bones!" "Haw, Duke, 
Haw! Look out there Runnells! you are getting out into 
the ditch." "Easy, Breck, easy. Don't crowd them too 
fast, Joe. Ketch me to put a pair of beef cattle into a 
team with them harum-scarum steers. There, Potter's off 
ox has cut his dew-claw half off! A man ought to know 
better than to put sharp-shod — " "Give 'em a leetle cold 
iron, Perry! That off steer of yours ain't touched his 
shoulder to the yoke since — " "Brace 'em up, boys! Now 
keep 'em movin' all together when we come inter thet drift. 
Ye-up, Brindle and White! here we go !" 

Bearing all these exciting and often unreasonable 
shouts and commands with great patience, the oxen would 
move along at about the same gait through it all, and when 
at last the end of the district had been reached and they 
were turned toward home, how they would prick up their 
heads and quicken their pace. Perhaps a few of the boy 
drivers with better perseverance than judgment would 
wallow alongside the team, but the majority of the team- 
sters would get on the sled. Finally, when home had been 
reached and the steers unyoked and put in their stalls, too 
tired to eat the extra portion of hay given them, we would 
drag our own weary limbs into the house, glad it was all 
over. But we wouldn't have missed it for anything. It 
was work, I suppose, but we never thought of it in that 


The chief source of pleasure, as well as of comfort, 
during the long winter evenings, was the huge, old-fash- 
ioned fireplace, in the kitchen, sitting-room, and workroom, 
the three combined in one, where the family gathered at 
nightfall to recount the incidents of the day and compare 
notes. When bedtime came the boys and girls were sent 
off to their respective quarters without the coddling that 
children get these days. The frost may have laid in deep 
coats upon the small window panes for forty days without 
so much as allowing a peep-hole through their fantastic fig- 
ures, and the snow may have sifted in through the crevices 
of the shingles upon the roof so their bed in the attic 
chamber would be crossed with snowbanks in the morning, 
but such trifles were not heeded. It made them tough, 
and men and women who grew up under such environ- 
ments were certain to become strong and brave of heart. 


By George Bancroft Griffith 

The hermit's smoke wreath now has spectral grown, 
The bold green hills are all in shadow thrown, 
And swan-like looks the maiden tall and fair, 
In white, full sleeves, and silver-jeweled hair, 
Soft rowing o'er the smooth stream's pallid sheen; 
All tremulous above her aspen leans! 

The poppies droop that gild the aftermath, 

Late asters close along the river path. 

The rumbling bridge sounds dreamy in its tone, 

Weird whispers through the dark pines now are blown, 

Borne from haunted, far-away lagoon, 

Where all the still night hangs the blood-red moon. 

And, hark ! the bittern's sudden, lonely cry 
Floats like a mocking, dying echo, by. 
The day is done, — from distant village spire 
Fades the last spark of sunset's ling'ring fire 1 

A Plain Tale of Plain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By George Waldo Browne 

[Copyright, 1906, by the Author] 
What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue ! — Burke. 



Rejoice, and men will seek you ; 

Grieve and they turn and go. 
They want full measure of all your pleasure, 

But they do not need your woe. 

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

HE following morning it was found that Deacon 

l ^lv Goodwill had concluded his rheumatism would 
allow him to attend the meeting of the selectmen, 
and early after dinner our twain were pleased to see him 
start for the village in his riding wagon hitched to old Bet. 
No sooner had he departed than they called to Abe, and 
persuaded him to go to town and obtain for them the best 
team to be found. 

"Squire Newbegin has got the best rig in Sunset," 
declared Abe. "He'll let me have it too — his Sunday top- 
carriage and road hoss." 

"Just what we want. Tell the squire you w : ll settle 
for it, and we will pay you. I shall have to ask you to go 
as quickly as you can." 



Glad to do his friends a favor, Abe fairly flew down 
the road, actually getting to the village as soon as his 
father, though he did not think it good policy to let his 
father see him. Squire Newbegin had already gone to the 
selectmen's room, but fortunately for the young messenger 
Miss Natalie Newbegin answered his request, and unhesi- 
tatingly ordered that the horse and carriage be gotten in 
readiness for him. 

"Going to take Meg to a ride this afternoon ?" asked 
Miss Newbegin, with a laugh. "I wish you and Meg a 
pleasant drive, Abe," she added, as he, blushing like a 
school girl remained silent. "Be back before dark I sup- 
pose?" Nodding in reply, and glad to escape this series of 
questions, Abe climbed into the vehicle and drove away. 
Upon reaching home he was dumfounded to see two highly 
dressed gentlemen leave the house and come forward to 
meet him. At first he did not recognize them, but he 
managed to stammer finally : 

"By gosh ! I had no idee yaou had such fine rigouts. 
Make yaou look like lords. Won't the folks stick aout 
their eyes? Guess the rig of the squire's ain't any too 
good for yaou. Glad I got it instead of Uncle Cale 
Wheat's that I had in mind in case the squire's was not to 
be got." 

The plotters were started on their way in a few min- 
utes, while Mrs. Goodwill and her family watched them out 
of sight with wondering gaze. 

"This is something like," declared Free Newbegin to 
his companion. "I like to go as a gentleman when I do 
go. This ought to create an impression that shall redound 
to our benefit." His friend was really too overawed by his 
situation to reply and, his mind filled with thoughts of con- 
flicting emotions, he became silent. His companion soon 
followed his example, thus the journey was being made in 
unbroken tranquility when they suddenly became aware 
of some great commotion taking place just ahead. Heard 
above the other sounds of confusion were the bellowings 


of some maddened brute that portended peril to some one, 
for mingled faintly in the uproar were human voices. 
Enoch whipped up the horse and before long the little 
party came abreast of the scene of excitement. At that 
moment, the bellowing of the brute having temporarily 
ceased, they heard a drawling voice pitched at a high key 

"Deah Mistah Lawd, save — aw — save me ! Deah 
Mistah Bull, let me — ah — aw — go away an' 'pon me honah, 
I will nevah, nevah step foot or hand on youah land wonce 
moah. Boo — hoo! w'at possessed me to come heah — to 
come heah?" 

This appeal was quickly followed by a womanly voice, 
saying in a spirit of command : 

"Hold your foolish tongue, John Reed, and I'll drive 
the vicious brute away." 

"I cawn't, Miss Beginnew, I cawn't. Oh, if them 
trousers — " 

A roar from the enraged creature, which was pawing 
up the ground a short distance away, drowned the balance 
of the piteous supplication, and the tread of heavy feet 
rushing furiously forward succeeded. The newcomers had 
already discoverd a most startling, and at the same time gro- 
tesque, tableau being enacted by the roadside. At the foot of 
a broken-topped tree a young woman had taken a bold stand 
as, armed only with a short club of wood, she defiantly faced 
the four-footed enemy that was offering such angry and 
noisy demonstrations of vengeance. Over her head, 
dangling from a broken branch of the maple by the seat of 
his pantaloons, his limbs swinging frantically in the air, 
was the author of the appeal for help. No doubt the 
threatening movement and outcries of the bull were due 
largely to his foolish outbursts. At this moment, lower- 
ing his shaggy head close to the ground, the animal 
bounded furiously toward the brave girl at bay. She 
proved equal to her situation, for before Free Newbegin 
could reach her side she had dealt the brute a blow over 



his nose which caused him to retreat with a bellow of pain. 
Before the creature could rally to make a second attack he 
was routed by the newcomers, and as he retreated across the 
pasture the young lady under the tree watched her rescuers 
with unfeigned surprise, as she had not dreamed of their 
presence until this moment. 

"I trust we w r ere in season to save you from any 
harm," said Free Newbegin, doffing his hat gallantly, as he 
returned from the chase. 

"I have not suffered any harm, sir, though I thank you 
none the less for your timely arrival. I had broken my 
club by that last blow, and I hardly know how I should 
have come out in another attack. As it is I think Mr. 
Reed has fared the worse," pointing toward the young man 
swinging to and fro over her head. The newcomers fan- 
cied a smile lurked about the corners of her mouth, for 
which there was ample cause in the figure of the discom- 
fitted youth overhead. 

"How in the world came you in such a plight?" 

"Well, you see, mistah, me an' Miss Newbegin was out 
walking, an' I see a wery pretty fern, so she an' me thought 
to pick it togethah. Just then that awful bwute started 
foah us like a waging lion. Miss Newbegin was fortunate 
enough to find — aw — a club, don'ch you know. Not having 
— aw — any stick to defend myself, I climbed this tree. I— 
I — aw — my foot must have slipped, donc'h you know, for 
I took a tumble. But wery fortunately I caught on this 
limb, but I'm awfraid I cawn't get down. It was most 
fortunate Miss Natalie was not hurt by that waging 

"Without any thanks to you," said Free Newbegin, as 
he reached up and freed the terrified youth from his 
peculiar situation, allowing him to fall to the ground in a 

"I guess if she had — aw — got caught as I did she 
wouldn't have done any bettah," muttered the crestfallen 
youth as he picked himself up, while he eyed the new- 


comers suspiciously. 

"I judge you are Miss Newbegin," said the prodigal, 
bowing for the second time, and removing his hat. 

"I am," she replied politely. "You have the advan- 
tage of me." 

"For which I owe you my apology. I am Justin Bid- 
well, recently arrived in town, and this friend of mine is 
Mr. Robert Bidwell, a cousin." 

"I am sure that I am glad to meet you both. If you 
are going toward the village I shall be pleased to have your 
company, as I was out for only a stroll with Mr. Reed. 
Mr. Reed, I trust you will get home all right," and leaving 
him in his bewildered state of mind, she started toward the 
road with her new-found companions. Upon discovering 
the team with which they were approaching the village, 
she exclaimed : 

"So it was for you Abe Goodwill wanted father's horse 
and wagon ?" 

"Certainly, Miss Newbegin. My cousin and I, who by 
the way are stopping for a few days with Deacon Goodwill, 
have occasion to visit the village on a little business mat- 
ter. Won't you please ride with us ?" 

"With pleasure," she replied, assisted into the carriage 
by Quiver. 

"Abe said there were two strangers stopping at his 
house when he came after the team. I am sorry father is 
not at liberty this afternoon, but he is meeting with the 
other selectmen. Were you ever in Sunset before ?" 

"Never," replied Quiver, who was quick witted enough 
enough to save his companion from answering the question. 
"It seems like a very quiet town." 

"So it is ; or, rather, it has been, but now it is quite 
overturned by the gold craze. Strangers coming into town 
and the news of the discovery of gold have set the people 
wild. W T hy, a small farm just out of the village actually 
sold for five thousand dollars the other day. I must say I 
think this hue and cry is only some wild hoax. What do 


you think, Mr. Bidwell ?" 

"I am not quite prepared to answer, Miss Newbegin," 
replied Freeland, to whom the question had been addressed, 
"but on general principles I should agree with you. I think it 
is generally believed there is not gold enough in New Eng- 
land to pay for the mining. Bubbles that are inflated easily 
are short-lived. I am afraid it will not bring any substan- 
tial good to the staid old town." 

"So am I. Father says it is a humbug, but he is so 
practical he does not give one much chance for dreams. I 
like to build air castles myself. But he has lost heart over 
the prospect of Sunset, though I can remember the time 
when he was all enthusiasm, and worked hard to get the 
people out of their old ruts. Somehow he couldn't quite 
do it. Coming as an uninterested party, what do you think 
of the prospect for the town ? Shall we ever wake up so 
as to become a part of the moving world ?" 

She was surprised to find how easily she had been 
drawn into this conversation with this handsome couple 
who a short time before had been unknown to her, while 
they were pleased with the natural innocence of discus- 
sion that she had unconsciously entered. The older lost no 
time in replying in that free and easy manner that gave 
such a pleasant impression. 

"I trust the awakening will not be sudden, in which 
case I should be distrustful of the result. The situation 
reminds me of a little incident I witnessed a few years since 
in the mountain regions of Europe. While crossing the 
Alps I fell in with a small party of Swiss mountaineers 
who were accompanied by an English woman. Judging by 
her looks she must have been at least seventy years of age, 
though she kept up with her companions with a buoyancy 
that a younger sister might have envied. Wondering why 
she should be there without any companion of her own 
people, I inquired of the guides the reason, when I was 
told that she was going to find the body of her husband, 
who had perished under an avalanche nearly fifty years 


before, while he and she were on their bridal tour. It was 
certain the body had remained under the ice all these years, 
but that now, according to the regular law of glacial 
change, it was expected that the form of the loved one 
might at last be recovered. She had been stopping at a 
hostelry for several months waiting impatiently for the tor- 
rent to break loose and lift his form to the surface. On 
this morning it had been announced that the long looked 
for hour had come, and she was then on her way to greet 
the image of her heart. I felt sufficient interest to accom- 
pany the party. 

"We arrived at the place just as the glad news was 
brought us that the body had appeared and would soon be 
rescued. The widow and myself pushed forward close 
upon the heels of our guides, and soon we gazed on the 
features of him hidden from the gaze of her who had loved 
him for nearly half a century. They were fair and hand- 
some, retaining the full freshness and vitality of early man- 
hood, for the crystal casket had preserved its treasure with 
all its natural beauty. The long, weary years of the 
world's toil and strife had not ruffled the smooth brow, 
nor had Time's withering touch laid an imprint on the 
shapely countenance. To me it was a beautiful sight, but 
I quickly saw that the woman beside me was strangely 
affected, and she would have fallen had I not placed an arm 
about her trembling form. Then I realized that it was 
anguish and not joy which stirred her bosom. Somehow 
she had forgotten the gulf the years had placed between 
them in their appearance, and in mute anguish she felt and 
knew that her own countenance presented such a vivid 
change, wrinkled and emaciated and care-worn, that she 
turned away, with a heart bleeding from a new wound which 
neither the memory of the past nor the dream of the 
future could heal." 

"I never heard of such an application made of the 
change of the years," she said. "But to which do you apply 
the theory of retained youth ? I am afraid I am very 



"It was my stupid way of stating it. I intended the 
old woman should typify your town, with its slow, aging 
steps. The world the body in the crystal casket. Bustle 
and progress is a natural condition. As long as the plant 
continues to grow it is always young." 

"I like that idea," she replied frankly. "By that I can 
see that the world holds the charm of perpetual youth. It 
is refreshing to have such views, and I shall always remem- 
ber them. You are right, too, for we here in our sloth and 
indolence are certainly growing gray faster than our years 
should warrant." 

"I am glad you think as I do. Old age is not a matter 
of years. Some are older at twenty than others are at 
seventy, for the heart is the thermometer of time and not the 
countenance. I remember some years ago of meeting a 
white-haired man, venerable with Father Time's fourscore 
degrees, climbing one of the precipitous mountains of Old 
Japan, and I was struck by the fact that he was performing 
a feat that few young men would care to undertake. I 
asked him why he was attempting to do at his age such a 
task. Looking upon me with eyes that certainly had lost 
little of their youthful lustre, he replied : 

'"Sir, I am searching for the fountain of youth!' 

"'Ha!' I thought, 'here is a modern Ponce de Leon 
deluded by the illusions of his years,' and I could not 
refrain from asking him if he expected to find such a fount 
on that cheerless mound of volcanic debris. 

"'I do,' he replied quickly. 'I shall find it in the exer- 
tions it will cost me to climb to its summit ; I shail find it 
in the invigorating breeze of its lofty pinnacle; I shall find 
it in the very atmosphere of that sky that never grows 
gray.' Then, doubtless reading in my face my wonder at 
his words, he hastened to add: 'Young man, you may think 
me a deluded fool, but that is because you do not under- 
stand the philosophy of life. You see trees age and die, 
believing that you must follow in the same way, forgetting 


that the divine spark of human life is immortal. At fifty 
men called me old, and I felt the weight of threescore years 
and ten already on my shoulders. But as I looked around 
me I saw others standing erect in the vigor and beauty of 
manhood at its best, though they were older, as we measure 
life, than I. I tried to solve this problem, but I came to 
no satisfactory explanation until one night, as I lay on my 
couch after a hard day's work, I dreamed that I had been 
called before the Supreme Judge to render an account of 
my services on earth. When asked what I had done I 
replied vain-gloriously that I had ever done my duty toward 
my fellow-men. "Your record is brief for one who shows 
the wages of so many years," he said. -'You have grown 
old before your time. You have not stopped to look 
around you long enough to recover your wasted energies. 
The seasons come and go, and as each autumn is succeeded 
by gray winter so is each winter followed by young spring, 
when Nature begins over again. It is so with man when 
he stops long enough to gather fresh impetus from his 
youthful environments. Each morn is the old day made 

"'I awoke but the dream remained with me. Now at 
fourscore and ten years I devote the winter of each year in 
looking on fresh scenes in a clime that is perennial to meet 
each succeeding spring of the seasons with renewed vitality 
and youth.' 

"I became a convert to this aged dreamer's theory, who 
I doubt not is at this moment turning his longing gaze 
toward some southern Alps that he may recover the wasted 
energies of the summer of life, though it was several years 
ago that I parted with him. Life is not measured by a 
span of years; there is no boundary line fixed for the soul. 
The memory of yesterday is as much a part of our being 
as the realities of to-day, and the anticipations of to-morrow 
as real as the ambitions now urging us on. The fountain 
of mirth welling up in our hearts to lighten the cares of 
labor, the tears which sanctify our sorrows and freshen the 


parched fields within, the song which brings childhood 
back on trooping feet, the longing which draws the future 
near to us, the love which softens the rugged lines of our 
character, the faith which ennobles those around us, the 
hopes which brighten every doubt, the dreams which 
startle us with the depth of their mystery — these are the 
elements that elevate manhood and womanhood to their 
true dignity and make perennial the flower of youth." 

If the eloquence of this easy talking stranger for the 
moment overcame her with a logic she but vaguely under- 
stood, she quickly recovered her mental equilibrium 
While she possessed an inherent knowledge beyond her. 
years and the scope of her experience, she could not other- 
wise than look with a mingling of awe and admiration upon 
the newcomers in their fine clothes, with their polished 
manners and a certain freeness and confidence in them- 
selves gained only by long contact with the world. This 
unknown brother, with his keen insight into human nature, 
despite the peculiar philosophy of life he had acquired in 
his wanderings, realized that she was not a maid of ordinary 
mold of mind. His companion, younger and less cynical, 
felt that he had never met her equal. So, each one stirred 
with different emotions, this meeting and brief companion- 
ship was destined to form lasting impressions on their 

"You talk very beautifully, Mr. Bidwell," she said after 
a short pause, "and if I cannot quite comprehend all you 
say and fail to agree fully with what I do understand, you 
must not blame me for it but rather my training. Here we 
are entering our little country village, and if you want to 
see an example of the state of mind this gold craze has 
thrown our steady-going people into you have only to look 
at the crowd gathered in front of father's store," pointing, 
as she concluded, to a knot of spectators collected on the 
broad piazza of the building. 

The central figure of the crowd, that showed evidence 
of suppressed excitement on every hand, was that easy- 



talking, good-natured optimist, Life Story, who was bend- 
ing over a large sheet of paper, drawn with many lines and 
dots, each one of which became in its turn the object of his 
pointing finger as he kept up his flow of speech. 

"This line here," he said, "shows the brook running 
through the Lovejoy farm, where gold has been found in 
such paying quantity as to bring men here from Californy 
to work th' lead. Now you will observe how clusly this 
line runs along Yaller Brook, across th' South road, keepin' 
on down th' valley, 'crost th' back road, and still follerin' 
the brook winds in and out back of th' Old Chief's Mirror, 
goin' mighty clus to Ken Fok'sle's place and meanderin' 
down through the Harbor. Off here on the left you see a 
little thread running up toward the Narrers, hittin' my 
little farm plumb in th' centre, so there ain't many of us 
slighted. I tell you the good things are pretty well shaken 
round. In this situation it behooves us as patriotic citi- 
zens of a patriotic town to lay our plans carefully for the 
future. We don't want to make no mistake at the outset. 
Fact an' quoth he, sir, what is is an' it can't be argified. 

"Naturally, when this great conbination gets combined, 
the folks get over starin' and settle down to bizness, th' 
more substantial work will speak for itself. You'll see this 
road all torn to strings, an' a wide boulevard runnin' 
straight to Boston will take its place. There'll be broad 
plank walks around the town, sweepers at every corner to 
brush the dust from the ladies' feet, and decorated umbrel- 
lers hung out at th' sunny places in warm days. Right 
here where we set will be the startin' p'int of all this 
mighty stream of industry. The squire will haul down his 
store, as good as it is, an' in its place will be built a granite 
post-office building of four stories. Here, too, besides 
runnin' th' bizness of Uncle Sam's post-office he will keep 
the biggest retail an' wholesale store in th' county. I hev 
got a picture of it up to th' house I drawed last evenin'. 
Right below here where Codman's house stands will be th' 
new town house, an' just below that a new church, with a 


schoolhouse clus by, all arranged as they should be within 
handy reach. I've got a map of all these up to th' house, 
shovvin' you just how the row will look, exceptin' that I've 
been thinkin it over since last night and I have concluded 
that a rooster don't look well on a town house when there's 
a post-office so clus by, an' that it oughter be on the gov- 
ernment buildin'. However, I ain't set on the idee, an' I 
may move it over on the church at noon, 'cos when you 
come to the importance of the situation the church is about 
as important as the post-office, because that consarns all 
time, while the other is simply temporal. Then there is 
the schoolhouse, as you will remember clus by, an' that is a 
proper place for a big crower. So I must say I'm a little 
undecided about th' rooster, but — " 

(Begun in the July, 1906, number; to be continued) 

iforeber anb 3tyt 

By Emily A. Bpaddock 

In the great world of spaces, 

Away and away, 
In its chasms and its caverns. 

In its pits of decay, 
There is room for forgettiug 

And slipping away : 
Room for forgetting 

Forever and aye. 

In a heart's little comer, 

Away and away, 
There is room to remember, 

To cling and to stay, — 
Room for having and holding 

And hiding away : 
Room to remember 

Forever and aye. 

Pleasant Pcmb 

By George Waldo Browne 

Amid New Hampshire's granite hills, 
In all her wealth of sparkling rills, 
And lakelets fair, from mount to sea, 
I know of none more fair than thee. 

O'er strand as pure and white as snow 
Thy crystal wavelets ebb and flow ; 
While surging gently 'long thy side, 
Sweet music chimes thy rippling tide. 

Anon when tossed by autumn storm, 
Thy beauty takes a grander form ; 
Or swollen by the floods of spring, 
Thy song is fraught with wilder ring. 

Thy splendor sought 'neath summer sky, 
To thee the merry boatmen hie ; 
Or bound by winter's icy chain 
The skaters skim thy frozen plain. 

But once in time now long since o'er, 
The wildwood met around thy shore, 
The lone duck 'long thy surface flew, 
Or red man sped his light canoe. 

And yet in primal gloom, unknown, 
Amid the shadows round thee thrown, 
Thy lustre shone in fairest sheen, 
As now adorned by hillsides green. 

So thus when we have passed away, 
And others cross thy sparkling spray, 
Though warrior bold or lover true, 
'Neath autumn's gray or summer's blue, 

Unchanged, wilt thou remain the same, 
To hear again thy oft-told fame, 
And in to-day's sweet strain respond — 
Thou ever charming Pleasant Pond. 

A beautiful sheet of water lying in Deerfield, N. H. 


<©ramtc Jkate jft9aga?me 

Vol. III. * MARCH, 1907. No. 3. 

&emim'£ccnce£ of lOfjtttter 


The Poet's Summers by Bearcamp Water 
By J. Warren Thyng 

Illustrations by the Author and Clinton H Cheney 

£^T]X THE pleasant district of the mountain region of 
^U New Hampshire through which the Bearcamp river 
flows, there stood for many years, near the banks of 
that picturesque stream at West Ossipee, a tavern destined 
to gather around it associations of more than ordinary 

It was here at this wayside inn that Whittier passed 
the summers of several years. 

The hotel, known as the Bearcamp River House at the 
time of the poet's residence there, was situated perhaps a 
bowshot distant from the railroad station, and on that side 
faced a wide and sandy road that under a hot August sun 
shimmered with dusty heat. When the train is passing 
West Ossipee the traveler sees from the car window little 
that is sufficiently interesting to fix his attention ; indeed, 
the scenery in either direction from the station is not, as a 
summer resort, particularly inviting; and apart from a 
glimpse of the green and wooded shoulder of a nearby 
mountain, and a bit of meadow with now and then a noble 
elm, the landscape is tame and uninteresting. 

The prospect towards the north and west, from where 
the knoll slopes to the fields and river, however, is a scene 
of considerable attractiveness. 




The old tavern of pleasant memory has long been 
gone — burned sill and rafter more than a quarter of a 

century ago ; and now- 
only the weeds of neg- 
lect cumber the earth 
where the buildings 
stood. Last summer, 
when visiting this 
shrine to which I 
make occasional pil- 

profusion all about, 
while a vine bearing 
flame-red flowers 
trailed its leafy token 
of nature's charity 
over the half-sunken 
door stone. This 
strange exotic, per- 


growing in wild 


Drawn by J. Warren Thyng 

haps brought by some 


years ago, had kept 

the tenure of its lonely 

life and, like Alice's posies that grew in the moss on the 

roof of the "House of Seven Gables," bloomed perennially 

in alien soil. 

'Here at the turn of the road, on the sandy knoll, a 
tavern has stood from time out of mind. Here, long before 
the railroad was built, the yellow- thoroughbraced stage, on 
its w r ayfrom Center Harbor to the great Notch mountains, 
was accustomed to pull up, change horses and allow- passen- 
sengers, who felt the oppression of the muggy weather, to 
alight and seek such temporary refreshment as circum- 
stances justified, for the long and hilly road leading up 
from the lake country was dusty on those sultry dog-day 
afternoons of long ago. 



Fairly comfortable, and well enough kept, Ames' 
Tavern, as the house was called in those times, was a land- 
mark, known through all the country round about ; by 
night its piazza lantern was a beacon of joy to the belated 
traveler faring along the dark road that tunnelled the 
mountain shadow. And so the uneventful years went by 
and time went on, until Ames' Tavern became Banks' Hotel 
and many a distinguished guest sat at the table in the long, 
unpainted dining room. Among them was Starr King 
who, with pen more graphic than Irving's, wrote the only 
permanent literature of our mountains, lakes and rivers ; 
the painter Inness 
who, like Turner, 
though greater 



#M1- ' limes 

-; >r^ »■"■'.■ V'^' ('V Y J 'W^- 

filter: sttggg 

than Turner, saw 
nature's colors as 
they are, hated 
convent ion alism 
and scorned such 
as paint platters of 
boiled ham and 
empty Schnapps 
bottles in the name 
of art ; George L. 
Brown, called the 
American Claude 
because of the at- 
mosphere of his 
painted skies; 
Champney of Con- 
way who, in his 
simple way, painted 
things as they look 
to one of healthful 
mind ; and it may 

be that genial Tom Hill, he whose "Golden Gate" was the 
admiration of the world, came over from Chocorua Lake 

Drawn by Clinton H.Cheney 


to see the mountain of romance and tragedy from Whit- 
tier's favorite viewpoint. 

These great men, unfettered by the delusions of the 
plaster-cast copying school — that refuge of the shiftless, 
that false light that lures the unwarned art student, — these 
great men have stayed for a time by Bearcamp Water. I 
fancy, too, that Lady Blanche, the disowned daughter of 
the Earl of Gainsborough of Exton Hall, living in her little 
cottage under Humphrey's Ledge by the Saco, came in the 
brilliant autumn weather to see Chocorua across pleasant 
Bearcamp Water. 

Thus was the old hostelry glorified. There were 
giants in those days. 

In early stage-coach times in New Hampshire country 
taverns were built after two different architectural models, 
both characteristic. One type was tall and thin, like the 
houses in a toy Xoah's Ark; while the other, less tall but 
much wider, had a square-pitch roof and a long, rambling 
ell. Something after this last-named fashion was the Bear- 
camp River House. 

A walk of a few rods westward from the station, to 
where a group of tall trees cast their morning shadow over 
the wild tangle of weeds and bloom that fringe the half- 
filled cellar of the burned hotel, brings into view a scene of 
rural quiet and diversified beauty. At the foot of the slope, 
and beneath the overhanging branches of maples and 
water willows flows the Bearcamp, the river of the poet's 
theme. Close by, and almost on the banks of the stream, 
the road runs and by its side are the few houses of the 
little hamlet ; nearest among them is the schoolhouse where 
Whittier sometimes went and talked to the children. He 
was fond of children. I have seen him walking hand in 
hand with a little child, her arms filled with great bunches 
of goldenrod they had gathered by the ride of the road. 
A picture for a Millais to paint. To the right of the street 
are fields and meadows where glimpses of the river may be 
seen winding its sinuous way down from Sandwich Notch; 


far beyond, over wooded foothills, half circling the view, is 
a mountain range. 

Whittier never went far away from the hotel. The 
river interested him and, if the distance did not seem too 
great, he would go to see some particularly graceful sweep 
of the stream where it flowed beneath the shade of leaning 
trees. I well remember a path leading to a bend in the 
river where a group of maples sheltered the path and flung 
their shadows far out over the water. He was quick to see 
the finer aspects of nature, but would remain silent for 
some time contemplating the scene before speaking of what 
he saw. Was it not Walpole who would sit by the hour 
with some friend without saying a word, calling it "Sociable 
Silence" ? On one occasion, when I had accompanied him 
to this spot by the river side, he silently watched the play 
of sunlight through the foliage as it wove fantastic figures 
upon the grass and the water, and then asked if the shadow 
on the still pool did not look like fingers of a hand. The 
reader will call to mind the lines in "Sunset on the Bear- 
camp" : 

"The drowsy maple shadows rest 
Like fingers on its lips." 

The morning was oppressively warm and he wore a 
long linen duster, and had the pockets full of peaches of 
which he gave me a large share. 

There are noble elms on the intervale; a particularly 
fine one stands near the road leading to the Knox farm. 
In the shade of this tree Whittier sometimes sat alone, 
thoughtfully listening to a vireo singing high overhead in 
the thick foliage. When he sat alone under his tree no 
one presumed to intrude upon him. Indeed, if one desired 
to retain his friendship, it was well to keep away when he 
chose to be by himself, and sometimes it was best to be a 
better listener than talker. 

While the Sandwich range may be seen advantageously 
from the vicinity of the Bearcamp, it is the view of Cho- 


corua that Whittier admired most of all the peaks. The 
view pictured in the accompanying illustration was sketched 
from the hill road, on the south side of the river, and is the 
one considered best by both Whittier and Lucy Larcom. 
Although the la°ke cannot be seen, the Bearcamp river 
flowing through the foreground admirably takes its place 
as an element in the landscape. 

Some time after making the sketch I received a letter 
from the poet in which he said: 

I sympathize with thee in thy love of the New Hampshire hills, and 
Chocorua is the most beautiful and striking of all. 

Another time he wrote concerning the view of Cho- 
corua from The Weirs, which he had not seen: 

AMESBURY, 10th Month. 

My Friend, — I thank thee heartily for thy picture from The 
Weirs. It is the most beautiful view of the lake I have seen. I shall 
frame it and hang it in my study, for it is a picture one cannot tire of. 
I have never been at Sanborn's, but if my life is spared I hope some clay 
to look from his piazza. 

Again thanking thee, I am very truly thy friend. 


"Among the Hills" was written while at the Bearcamp 
House. The incident upon which the sentiment of the 
poem depends was slender. The poet and some friends 
accompanied the landlord's daughter, when she went one 
afternoon to a farmhouse on the Tamworth road to buy 
butter. This road was known locally as "Turkey Street." 
The sunset deepened into twilight and twilight into night 
as they drove homeward; the changing scene ever appeal- 
ing to his artistic perception as 

"Sounding the summer night, the stars 
Dropped down their golden plummets." 

"Voyage of the Jettie" had a special interest to the 
author as the verses were written to amuse an invalid 
friend. The poem describes a real incident. A gentleman 
had brought a dory from the city to place on the Bearcamp 


river. This little boat he named "Jettie," in honor of 
Jettie Morrill, a beautiful young girl, one of the poet's 
friends. A number of distinguished people were present 
at the launching, and no great ship was ever floated more 

No one more enjoyed seeing others happy than did 
Whittier, though he was annoyed if strangers sought him 
out of mere curiosity ; at such times he would get away if 
he could. His innate humor would, however, come to his 
rescue when hopelessly caught. Once a man from some- 
where out West called to see him. "He extravagantly 
praised my work," said the poet, "and all the time called 
me Whittaker." 

It is doubtful if any except those intimately acquainted 
with him even suspected how keenly he appreciated the 
humorous, and how quickly he saw the amusing side of 
things. He liked a good story and a good joke, as I more 
than once had opportunity to know. 

One morning, returning late from a walk, breakfast 
was nearly over when I entered the dining-room ; Whittier 
and many of the guests were there; upon seeing me he 
arose and said, with anxiety in his voice, "I am very glad 
to see thee this morning." 

All looked up, wondering why the distinguished man 
thus addressed a stranger. 

"Why this morning?" 

"Because," he replied, "the sheriff came down from 
Conway last night and took a man, and I was afraid it was 

While the Indian left a small budget of sweet-sound- 
ing names, and traces of a faith wiser than science, the tra- 
ditions he cherished are dim as the tints of a fading daguer- 
reotype, and are fast becoming lost to the literature of our 
hills. The views Whittier held were so little pessimistic 
that he cheerfully accepted the destiny manifested by the 
passing time. 


"Assured that He whose presence fills 

With light the spaces of these hills 

No evil to his creatures wills. 
"The simple faith remains, that He 

Will do, whatever that may be, 

The best alike for man and tree." 

One day, while speaking of the slender record of prim- 
ative romance that is left, he said : "Have you been at Mel- 
vin?" Upon being answered in the negative he remained 
silent, and I thoughtlessly asked if there really was a great 
Indian mound at Melvin by the lake. His answer was 
deserved. "Thee should not inquire too curiously." Mel- 
vin is the small village at the foot of Ossipee mountain, 
where the gigantic Indian skeleton is said to have been 
found that furnished the motive for his poem, "The Grave 
by the Lakeside." Some one said the verses were inaccu- 
rately located. The fact that he had never been at Melvin 
affords no license to that sort of criticism that fails to dis- 
tinguish between the privileges of poetical expression and 
the compilation of a directory. 

By nature Whittier was firm, very firm; by instinct a 
dignified gentleman ; by habit well dressed, scrupulously 
neat and tidy in appearance. He had no sympathy for the 
hermit who turned his unwashed face away from the sun- 
light, the blue sky and the eyes of his fellow men. He did 
not like Thoreaif s habits of living ; he did not believe that 
willful disregard of personal appearance was a mark or pre- 
rogative of talent. 

Is was a merry, group that, in those radiant summer 
days, sat around the old-fashioned tables in the square din- 
ing-room in the tavern by the flowery banks of the Bear- 
camp; and now to us who are drifting down the stream of 
time, on whose shores the poppies of oblivion grow, the 
bloom by that mountain river is bright to the eye of 

It has been said that he was color-blind. This state- 
ment seems remarkable, inasmuch as in his work there is 
constant evidence of sympathetic estimation not only of 




positive color but of hues of color. Repeatedly has he 
directed my attention to the most delicate tints in a land- 
scape. These lines occur in ''Sunset on the Bearcamp." 

"The gold against the amethyst, 
The green against the rose/' 

Among Whittier's most highly esteemed friends at the 
Bearcamp was Lucy Larcom, who assisted in compiling 

Drawn for the Granite State Magazine by Clinton H. Cheney 

"Songs of Three Centuries." She was a most estimable 
woman, whose presence brought sunshine into the grayest 

Charles W. Palfrey said to me that Webster was the 
only great man he knew who was not at first sight disap- 
pointing. This is the best description I can give of John 
G. Whittier. If you knew him you had found your Sir 
Galahad. I have never seen a really satisfactory likeness 
of him, either photographed or engraved. They all lack 
the repose — the inherent nobility of his nature. 

As the years pass and people study nature more, and 
ostentatious pedantry less, and as the perfection of beauty 


is realized by the true use of the faculties of seeing, think- 
ing and reflecting, the poet Whittie'r becomes one of the 
noblest translators of the grandeur, goodness and beauty 
of the Creator's work. No state, no spot on earth, has 
been more honored than has New Hampshire by that tri- 
umvirate, as it were, of genius, YVhittier, Inness and 
Starr Kins:. 

It is summer by the Bearcamp. Years and years are 
gone. The stream appears less wide; the trees are larger, 
their shadows upon the water deeper. 

I mark the low flight of the swallows and hear the cry 
of a bittern far away on the meadow. The sentinel pines 
on the hill are stirred to solemn sound by the wind. My 
spaniel barks at a rain crow in the hedge — it will rain 

Over the river and beyond the meadow and the wooded 
hills rises Chocorua, the mountain of the Indian's maledic- 
tion — the mountain whose shadow is as the shadow of 
tragedy. The mountain of hateful memory — yet the most 
beautiful of the White Hills. 

I sit by my friendship fire while the day fades. It is 
sunset on the Bearcamp. 


By Harold D. Carew 

Of the truth of God that we ordain, 
No child of earth could e'er coerce 

A revelation, or explain 

The mysteries of the universe. 

Granite J>tate ftooftrees 


Gen. James Miller and His Temple Home 

By Charles B. Heald 

'•Such is the patriot's boast, wher'er we roam, 
His first, best country ever is at home." 

— Goldsmith. 

•|*^XE balmy Indian Summer afternoon, some few 
^^</ years more than a century ago, there might have 
been seen gathered about the village store in the 
town of Peterborough, this state, a goodly number of the 
male population of the place, from the county "squire" to 
the tavern loafer, it was the usual characteristic gathering: 
of the Yankee clan, such as one finds any time, even to-day, 
assembled about a country store, ever New England's 
forum for a full and free discussion of the weighty ques- 
tions of the hour; however, on this particular occasion, 
politics and the weather were being sadly neglected for a 
more spirited argument over the contest as to who could at 
onetime carry across the street the largest number of sacks 
of corn. One after another of the local strong men had 
vied with another, and all seemed destined to be outdone 
by the village smithy, who was about to reach the goal 
with the heaviest load yet attempted when, much to the 
merriment of the crowd, ne was seen to go dow r n sacks and 
all in the dusty road, which in the rays of the western sun 
was like a line of silver as it extended up over the hill and 
was lost to sight in the Monadnock land of mountain forest 
ani lake beyond. 

Just then a stalwart lad of fifteen enters the contest, a 
lad whose well-molded figure and strong, honest, ruddy 



face showed determination blended with a genial good 
nature, and told of the rich, red blood of Scotch-Irish man- 
hood that flowed through his veins. 

"Why, Jimmy," remarks a bystander, "you can't lift all 
those sacKs. 

"I will try, sir," is the youth's ready response, as he 
with quick, easy grace is seen to kneel and request that the 
bags of corn be piled on his back until he had shouldered 
the same number attempted by the previous contestant and 
then, much to the amazement of the spectators, off he 
trots on all fours to easily gain the other side of the street. 
Wit had helped muscle to win the wager. 

Years afterward, when this lad became a man, he was 
again heard to say : "I will try, sir," and a sterner victory 
was won, that of saving his country when defeat would 
have meant perhaps the death blow to the life of a young 
nation, grown now to be the greatest of the land, — our own 
nation, that of the American people. 

The boy "Jimmy" was now to be known as Gen . 
James Miller, the hero of the Battle of Lundy's Lane. 

James Miller was born in Peterborough, April 25, 1776. 
and like many other of our county's noblest men, his boy- 
hood days were those of a farmer lad until ambition for 
greater things lead him to seek some sort of an education. 
Although a few weeks at an academy in the neighboring 
town of Amherst, and a later slight college course was ail 
the preparation he was able to get, Miller was admitted to 
the bar, and in 1803 became a practising lawyer at Green- 
field, this state. But a more vigorous life was to be his, for 
a strenuous nature that always was doing something could 
not long stand the curb of a law office, and the title 
"esquire" was changed to that of "major" of the American 
Army, — at that time the highest commissioned officer in 
New Hampshire. From now on until retirement Miller 
was wholly identified with military life, and was stationed 
at what was then the frontier, although no farther west 
than Pittsburg. While here he wrote home to his wife, 


the much "beloved Ruth," many letters, and from them we 
gather an insight into the warm, loving nature of the man 
who could also be a stern warrior when the rigor of camp 
discipline or battle demanded, for, although a strong attach- 
mnnt for home and fireside made him always considerate 
towards others, never was he known to order his men 
where he himself could not lead. In one of the letters to 
his wife, the major writes thus: 

I do not intend it shall ever be said of you, "there goes the wife or 
widow of a coward !" 


Of a social nature, the fellowship of his brother man 
meant much to James 'Miller, more particularly as he had 
thrice seen Masonic light: first in old Benevolent Lodge at 
Milford, in the Souhegan valley, but at the time he entered 
convened at Amherst, and, as he traveled towards the west, 
in Pittsburg Lodge in 1811, and he later became affiliated 
with St. Andrew's Mark Lodge of Boston. 

Colonel Miller's famous fight and capture of the Brit- 
ish stronghold at the Battle of Niagara, July 25, 18 14, is 
familiar history and needs no retelling. Undoubtedly it was 


one of the hardest fousrht conflicts of our second strusr^le 
with Great Britain, and even as modest as the hero was 
«3ver the achievement he termed it such in a letter written 
home three days after. In part it read as follows: 

The moment they got to the centre they opened the most destructive 
flank fire on us, killed a great many, and attempted to charge with their 
bayonets. We returned the fire so warmly they were compelled to stand ; 
we fought hand to hand for some time, so close that the blnze of our guns 
crossed each other; but we compelled them to abandon their whole artil- 
lery, ammunition wagons and all, amounting to seven pieces of elegant brass 
cannon. . . . After Generals Brown, Scott and others were wounded, we 
were ordered to return back to our camp, about three miles, and prepara- 
tions had not been made for taking off the cannon, as it was impossible 
for me to defend it and make preparation for that too, and it was left on 
the ground except one beautiful brass six-pounder, which was presented to 
my regiment in testimony of their distinguished gallantry. The officers of 
the army all say, who s>a\v it, that it was one of the most desperate and 
gallant acts ever known ; the British officers whom we have prisoners, say 
it was the most desperate thing they ever saw or heard of. Gen. brown 
told me, that I had immortalized myself; '•but," said he, "my dear fellow, 
my heart ached for you when I gave you the order, but I knew it was the 
only thing that would save us !" 

In acknowledgment of such service as this, the state 
of New York presented the brave colonel, now henceforth 
to be known as general, a handsome sword, and congress 
awarded him a gold medal, both bearing appropriate 
inscriptions. These are now in the keeping of his grand- 
son, the present Gen. James Miller, the occupant of the 
old homestead at Temple. 

However dashing in battle the elder Gen. James Mil- 
ler w r as, at heart he was a man of peace, and the bonds of 
family were stronger than the fetters of war. He retired 
from the army and in 1815 purchased the homestead men- 
tioned above. Here, surrounded by those whom he loved 
best and a host of friends ever dear to him, this soldier- 
gentleman passed the happiest moments of his life. The 
general was now a man of about forty, and is described as 
"about six feet in height and handsomely proportioned, 
with a bronzed face lighted up by hazel eyes of piercing 



brilliancy. His hair was jet black, his features pleasing, 
and the whole countenance expressive of ardor, energy, 
generosity and blunt good humor." 


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He was courteous to all, but never careless of his 
friendship, and for this reason those who won it were all 
the more appreciative of the general's companionship. A 
born entertainer, his hearthstone was always surrounded 
by a host of guests, and to be invited to the Miller man- 
sion was indeed considered an honor by the townspeople, 
who were proud of their soldier citizen. His warm devo- 
tion to his own children made him a favorite with those of 
others. This was strengthened by his affection for ani- 
mals. In one of his letters he writes : 

I have sent little Ephraim's fawns; their names are Fanny aud Dick; 
their food is bread and milk, sweet apples, clover, &c. You may let them 
out to play, they will not run away, they will follow you anywhere. 

And again, 

Kiss little Kate and Ephraim, with all the love of a father and mother, 
for you and for me. 


Upon his return from Arkansas, where as governor of 
that territory he was sent in 1819, he brought back for the 
little ones two young buffalo, which were the wonder and 
admiration of the country folk for miles around, while 
they were able to withstand the inclemency of the New 
England climate. In 1824 the General was elected to con- 
gress to a seat in the house, but being now in poor health 
he decided rather to accept the office of collector of cus- 
toms at Salem, Mass., which was tendered him at the same 
time. For twenty-four years he retained this position to 
leave it only when paralysis compelled a return to the 
much-loved Temple Farm, where the remaining two years 
of his eventful life were peacefully passed until the end, 
July 7, 1851. 

General Miller was twice married. His first wife was 
Martha Ferguson of Peterborough, who died two years 
after her marriage in 1805. Miss Ruth Flint he married 
four years later. She was adored Ruth whom he addressed 
so affectionately while absent on his campaigns, and she 
rests beside the brave fighter and home-loving patriot in 
Harmony Grove cemetery at Salem. 

The General's oldest son, James Ferguson Miller, was 
a commodore in the navy. He died in 1858. A son of his, 
now the retired Brigadier-General James Miller, living at 
Temple on the old homestead, is the last to survive of this 
line of Yankee-sagas of four generations, for he too had a 
military son, also of the army, a young man whose untimely 
demise while on a return voyage from the Philippines was a 
sad blow to the father who had planned much for his home- 

This namesake of his distinguished grandsire has done 
a great deal towards the preservation of the place so dear 
to him, which has always remained in the keeping of one or 
another of the family, and where for their lifetime lived 
the two unmarried daughters of the first General. 

Although improvements have been made, the only 
change from the original estate is in the alteration of the 



roadway fronting the house, that it might have a more 
retired effect, and the rebuilding of the portion of the east 
wing destroyed by fire a few years ago. 

It is situated at Temple, a mile down the Wilton road 
from the village street, where, overlooking hill and dale, 
the patriotic townspeople have erected on the "Green" 
memorials to the soldier dead of the three American Wars 
and to the distinguished hero of this sketch. For a cen- 
tury and a quarter the old mansion has withstood the bleak 
storms that have come to its back from the cold northland. 
or in turn been bathed in the warmth of the southern sun- 



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shine. Approached from Greenville we see, as we near 
our journey's end, a vista of overhanging trees, and beyond 
the historic manse in the golden sunlight, like an illumin- 
ated portrait standing out of a frame of dark verdure. 

Built in 1/86, the house itself is much the same as 
when the first owner, Ebenezer Edwards, came to it with 
his young; a type of the hospitable style of architecture 
fashionable after the Revolution, two stories high with L's 
at either end, a huge chimney, and its little vine-covered 
balcony over a big center door give the place an aristocratic 
dignity that is attractive even in its solitude and age. Fra- 
grant hawthorn and lilac bushes still bloom in the open 
dooryard, while a graceful elm bends protectingly over the 


weather-beaten roof that oft sheltered so long ago the 
warrior-statesmen that came from afar to greet their fellow- 
patriot and his lovable wife in their New Hampshire home. 

Generals Jackson and Boyd, Commodore Bainbridge, 
and the master story teller, Hawthorne, all men who valued 
friendship beyond that of a moment's passing, have at one 
time or another been welcome guests at the fireside of this 
colonial manor at the meeting of the highways. 

Fair women have added beauty and grace to the chiv- 
alry of the brilliant assemblies that once here gathered 
around the festive board or lightly tripped the stately 
minuet to the soft note of a spinet. 

In mind we see again the gay throng that long years 
ago filled the old manor-house with joyous laughter or made 
the old wainscoted hall resound with stirring speeches as 
manly voices were raised in the cause of freedom and 

On a "muster day" one might have seen the handsome 
General and his guests, the honored spectators at the 
"training field," a few rods west of the estate, up a shady 
roadway of white birch trees, a vast cathedral-like arch of 
leafy light and shadow that makes as pretty a woodland 
picture as can be often found. 

It was a goodly company that greeted the distinguished 
visitors that mellow, ripening October day, for drawn up 
in perfect line by Captain Holt was the county militia, 
every man spick and span in a bright new uniform and a 
big bearskin chapeau. The fair sex were also there to 
admire and be admired, and the country folk for miles 
around, man and maiden, husband and wife with a troop of 
little ones, all bent on having a gala time of it, for was not 
this the red-letter clay of the year, — a sort of a beginning 
of the county fair. 

Booths were scattered here and there about the parade 
ground. One was being largely patronized by a lot of 
youngsters, wholly intent on seeing who could devour the 
largest amount of gingerbread • at another a less hungrv 


but more thirsty crowd of men were doing their best to 
reduce the generous supply of "mix'd liquors" Goodman 
Adams had provided for refreshment, while in other corners 
of the field all sorts of sports of rather a wild, woolly west 
nature were in progress. From farther away, down by a 
gamboling brook, under a gnarled willow, came the sound 
of a merry peal of girlish glee that told of a happy group 
of lasses and their laddies that, 

'•Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 
While many a pastime circled in the shade." 

The echo of the merriment of that scene has long 
since died away, and across the way rest many who helped 
on the gaiety of that hour. One by one the General's 
guests departed, never to return, he too to follow, — all 
have had a passing. Only is there left the old homestead, 
silent and sombre were it not that every springtime brings 
to it new warmth and bloom, flowers once again blossom in 
the grassy dooryard, graceful elms bend over it in benedic- 
tion, while nimble squirrels play about the massive trunks 
and in the shadowing branches birds build nests in the 
selfsame places where long ago the kind-hearted father and 
his fond children so often watched for their coming. 
Nature in all the fullness of life, that he loved so well, has 
wrapped a mantle of beauty around the hallowed spot as if 
to shield away the ruthless touch of decay, and forever 
keep green the memory of the grand old veteran whose 
loyalty to friends and country was as steadfast as the 
granite hills that encircled his cherished Temple home. 

Cije ^olbier of Castile 

By James Newton Matthews 

It was afternoon in Madrid, during Isabella's reign, 
When Ristori was playing in the capital of Spain, 
That Nicholas Chapado, a Castilian soldier, lay 
Within a dungeon doomed to die, at breaking of the day, 
A beardless boy and beautiful, with gentle voice and eye, 
For some offense of discipline, a felon's death must die ; 


Xo pleading sister's upturned face — no mother's fond appeal, 
Xo sweetheart's eloquence could save the soldier of Castile : 
And so a black-robed bellman, as the cus'om was, went down 
Collecting alms in all the streets and by-ways of the town. 
Collecting alms to pay the priest to lift his voice on high, 
In supplication for the soul of him who had to die. 

The great Italian actress, standing at her window high. 

Saw the ghostly bellman ringing, and she turned and questioned '•why''? 

And when a Spanish cavalier responded with the tale, 

The listening woman shuddered, and her cheek grew chill and pale. 

Then, turning from the casement, where the sunlight softly fell, 

She saw no more the bellman, and she heard no more the bell ; 

She only saw in fancy from a dungeon bare and gray — 

A lad led forth to slaughter, at the breaking of the day — 

A brave boy rudely ushered from a prison's rime and rot, 

To the sunshine of the city, for an instant, to be shot ; 

And her great heart sank within her, and her soul in sobs escaped. 

As she thought — the mimic empress — of the tragedies she aped. 

And now 'twas night in Madrid, and the Zarzuela shone 
With oriental opulence, and splendor all its own ; 
The bended balconies above blazed like a triple chain, 
That belted in the beauty and the chivalry of Spain; 
Proud Isabella from her box looked out with haughty grace, 
While the passions of a race of kings were pulsing in her face; 
Anon, amidst a clash of bells, and 'midst the crowd's acclaim, 
The pale Italian sorceress before the footlights came; 
A glory fell about her, as her tragic spirit played 
On the passions of the Spaniards, in their royal pomp arrayed; 
She tranced them with her tenderness — she touched them as with steel- 
She broke a pathway to the coldest heart in old Castile. 

'Twas midnight, and the play was done, the closing curtain fell, 

And Ristori was kneeling at? the feet of Isabel le — 

Lo ! the mimic queen was pleading with an eloquence unknown 

For Xicholas Chapado, to the Queen upon the throne: 

All motionless and silent stood the swarthy cavaliers, 

Their bosoms wrung with pity, as they leaned upon their spears ; 

'Twas the picture of a Passion — 'twas a priestess of her art. 

At the feet of Mercy kneeling, with her pleading lips apart; 

'Twas a woman's heart appealing — 'twas resistless as the seas, 

Or the rushing Xorth that hurtles down the snowy Pyrenees; 

The haughty Queen was conquered — and that night the links of steel 

Fell, broken at her bidding, from the soldier of Castile. 

Pouters of "Popular literature" 

New Hampshire Authors Among Them 

By George Waldo Browne 


Another promising young man to assist in the new 
venture was Maturin M. Ballon, like the first the son of a 
divine, and who afterwards became the unsuccessful suc- 
cessor of Mr. Gleason in his illustrated paper, who later 
gave his name to a magazine, and has since written several 
books of merit, notably "Due South" and "Gems of 
Verse." Other contributors were the graceful poet, 
novelist and historian, Francis A. Durivage, who died in 
New York a feu- years since; A. J. H. Duganne, poet and 
romancer, and George P. Burnham. "Major Fred Hunter," 
who afterwards abandoned literature for the hen business, 
and then set the world cackling with laughter with his book 
on "The Hen Fever," one of the most ridiculously funny 
books I ever read. 

Shut up in a country home among strangers at one 
time, and finding nothing else in the reading line to while 
away the time, I caught "The Hen Fever," and read until 
I was tired, laughed until I was exhausted, yawned, 
smoothed out my countenance, took up the book again, 
read, laughed, laid it down, only to take it up again, and so 
on until I had finished the last stages of this felicitous 

Justin Jones was another who, under his pseudonym 
of "Harry Hazel," added to the attractions of the new pub- 
lications until Messrs. Street & Smith started their hew 
Yoik Weekly to rival Bonner's Ledger. As Bonner had 
come to Boston for his star writer, so they came here for 




their editor, paying Mr. Jones two thousand dollars a year. 
He remained two years, when he reappeared in Boston to 
start Harry Hazel's Yankee Blade. This venture did not 
prove a financial success under his management, and while 
his subscription list and sales slowly descended in the scales 
of profit and loss, he ascended with his office until at the 
time I knew him he was occupying a small, dingy room 
overlooking Liberty Square, reached by climbing tour 
flights of dark, winding stairs. Here he whittled away, 
figuratively speaking, with his Blade for a score of years, 


m vit\ 



beating out by the click of the type his "Drumhead Ser- 
mons" in the negro dialect, by "J. Cesar Pompey Squash," 
which were household words wherever his paper was read. 
He usually composed them as he stood at the case, stick in 
hand. When asked why he did not remain longer in New 
York, his position having been at his command, he replied 
that "there was not work enough for him to do to keep 
from getting uneasy." He certainly had enough of it here. 
He wrote several books, among them "Virginia Dare/' 
which was very popular in its time. Mr. Jones was of 
medium height, had a nervous temperament, rather crusty 
in his manner, but with a generous heart. He, too, finally 



gave up the fitful battle of trying to earn a living from a 
business in which there was no money for him. and went to 
a home for unfortunate old men, where he died a few years 

Anion? the most thrilling of this Boston set of writers 
was Charles E. Averill, who early in his teens was writing 
stories that for depth of mystery and magic of plot could 
not be surpassed by any of his associates. But the fires of 
his precocious genius burned out ere he was twenty. 
Then there was Dr. John B. Williams, who I believe was a 


v :i &*.-■:■ 


' ■■'.-' : ^"" iM-^j"- ■ 

Col. E. Z. C. JUDSON 


Vermonter, and who followed with the literary tide as it set 
Yorkward. Later he became an exclusive on The Saturday 
Night. He wrote with considerable earnestness and always 
in the same vein. Another was Mrs. C. F. Gerry, who 
wrote a strong narrative with a historical setting. Mrs. 
Ann S. Stephens found here a market for her first literary 
offering. Another graceful writer with a decided feminine 
touch was "M. T. Caldor," whose name or identity I have 
never been able to learn. 

Here also came with his offerings that genial, talented 
Ben: Perley Poore, whose fine Revolutionary stories. 
became favorites with a wide circle of readers. Notably 




his "Loyalist" and "The Scout" gave promise of his future 
success. He became in truth a veteran of the pen, though 
he did less of story writing as he added to his duties that 
of a printer, a member of the diplomatic service, a soldier 
during a portion of the Civil War, a public servant, an his- 
torian, a student of law, and exponent of agriculture. 
Loved and respected by a widening circle of acquaintances, 
an indefatigable worker, crowding into his life effort and 
result enough to have satisfied almost any half dozen per- 
sons, gifted, industrious, generous-hearted, Ben : Perley 

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Poore came as near an ideal American, perhaps, as can 
well be found. 

While others might be mentioned, this list would not 
seem complete without including that fluent story teller, Col. 
E. Z. C. Judson, known as "Edward Minturn," and of 
more extended notoriety as "Ned Buntline." His first 
story was printed in The Flag of Our Union when he was 
fifteen. He was one of the most prolific and rapid writers 
of his day. Something of his popularity may be judged 
from the fact that he received as high as $60,000 a year for 
his work, and his regular income was §20,000. Once, 


under particular pressure, he is said to have earned $12,500 
in six weeks. The rapidity of which he was capable in 
turning out his work is shown by writing a book of over 
six hundred pages in sixty-two hours, scarcely sleeping or 
eating during the time. Besides his literary ventures he 
found opportunity to mingle in many stirring scenes at 
home and abroad, and he probably carried as many wounds 
on his body as any other American, but finally died of heart 
disease at the age of sixty-four. He was short of stature, 
thick set, had a face strong and deeply furrowed, wore mili- 
tary clothing, showed a marked martial bearing, as well he 
should, having been both an army and naval veteran. At 
one time, after having been unwittingly drawn into a dis- 
cussion of literary work, and listening to a stinging denun- 
ciation of fiction from the venerable Dr. Prime, he was 
called upon to reply. Prefacing his remarks with an apol- 
ogy for having done so much evil in the world, he declared 
that the saddest fact he had to recall was that his first 
bound book for which he had received pay was a Sunday- 
school work. When he had concluded the doctor apol- 
ogized for what he had said. 

I cannot conscientiously turn this page without naming 
Mrs. E. Oakes Smith, another New Hampshire author, 
unless I am mistaken, though I have been able to learn 
very little of hen Yet another was John Neal, a son of 
the Pine Tree State, who was received in the literary circles 
of Great Britain as one of the foremost of American novel- 
ists of his generation. 

Already, as has been hinted, the literary tide had set 
Yorkward and with the foremost of these authors who had 
made them such successes gone over to their rivals the 
Boston novelettes and periodicals lost their hold on the 
public. It is true spasmodic attempts were made to revivify 
them, but without permanent profit. The papers outlived 
the books, but to-day only one remains as a ghost of the 
past. Still it was glory enough for them, perhaps, that 


they )ed the way in the establishment of a new line of 
reading matter. 

In 1859 Mr. Irwin P. Beadle published in New York 
the first dime novel, entitled, "Maelaska, the Indian Wife 
of the White Hunter," written by Mrs. Ann S. Stephen, 
who, it will be remembered, had received her training in the 
Boston school of popular authors. This was received with 
such hearty support that others followed, and the founder's 
brother, Mr. Erastus F. Beadle, entering into the business 
with him Beadle's dime novels soon became widely known. 
New contributors were called into the new field of labor, 
among the first being the New Jersey schoolmaster, Mr. 
Edward S. Ellis, whose stories of frontier life soon won for 
him a host of followers in the very same path that Cooper 
had blazed a generation before bim. As rich in woodlore 
as the other, Mr. Ellis found friends where his predecessor 
had failed to retain his readers by details that the common 
mind is too indolent or too dull to appreciate. Others were 
N. C. Irons, whose facile pen delineated with such fidelity 
to truth stories of the American Revolution ; W. J. 
Thomas, who never failed to please; John W. W'atson, 
author of "Beautiful Snow," whose earnings melted away 
as swiftly as the white shroud he pictured about his dead, 
so he passed his last days in want. Bartley Campbell, who 
afterwards became famous as the author of "The Galley 
Slave," "My Partner," etc., but who died in the madhouse, 
learned his style of crisp and telling dialogue from writing 
Dimes, which was as necessary with them as in the drama. 
Captain Mayne Reid, the soldier, traveler, naturalist, boy's 
hero, and everybody's favorite, wrote some of his best work 
for this series while slowly sinking into his grave from the 
effects of that wound he received in fighting for our flag at 
the storming of Chapultepec, though not a citizen of this 
country. It is a singular fact that he could not sell for a 
living price elsewhere. 

There is no need to multiply names in this direction. 
From the specimens quoted it will be seen that after all the 


work could not have been inferior to that we are reading by 
the wholesale to-day. The point I wish to show is that it 
was these very agents who encouraged the taste for read- 
ing, and step by step have led their followers onward and 
upward. As a rule these novelettes, whether emanating 
from Boston or New York, were written with painstaking 
care by authors many of whom later in life established for 
themselves reputations that not only became national but 
reflected credit upon our literature. They proved that 
romantic literature is always the most popular reading, and 
its most acceptable form is in the historical novel, which 
accounts for the wonderful success of that kind of work. 
In the great over-supply to-day it may lose for a time some- 
thing of its holding power, but it cannot be thrust out of 
sight. We shall continue to read such books as emanated 
from the fertile brains of Scott, Cooper, Simms and Mayne 
Reid. Boys even more than men are fascinated by the 
stirring page, and it is safe to safe to say the youth of the 
coming generation will be charmed by them. This is the 
wonderland of history, where the juvenile mind feasts with 
pleasure. The true novel is supposed a narration of purely 
imaginary events, but the really successful one portrays 
faithfully some trait of human character, some pastel of 
natural description, some sidelight of history, or some 
sincere delineation of biography. 

The novelette was put up in cheap form to meet a 
public demand for reading matter which could not be 
afforded by the great mass of readers in more expensive 
style. In this guise it fell into ill-repute, no matter what 
its merit. It was classed among the lowly, and read behind 
the doors of respectable society. The same literature 
bound in cloth or calf, illustrated with half-tones and embel- 
lished with gold ornaments, becomes the resident of the 
home library or an honored guest on the parlor table. The 
youth 'who was found astray with a dime novel in his 
possession was looked upon with compassion as the victim 
of pernicious reading, but no matter in what company he 


might be found with a bound book in his hand no one con- 
nected his downfall with this volume that had been raised 
above public censure simply by its dress. 

It will do no harm to realize that public sentiment calls 
for such literature as comes from the pens of these busy 
workers, the authors of those books following in the line of 
the original ten-cent novelette, which we are so apt to con- 
demn. Reform and regeneration must come along this 
lower plane, and it will be well to see that they are encour- 
aged to give their best rather than their worst work. 

After all, the greater evil lies not in the flood of books 
being put upon the market, but from the manner in which 
these fruits of the brain are being devoured by the gour- 
mands of literature and by those who deceive themselves 
into the belief that they have cultivated the art of good 
literature by posting themselves on the "popular books" of 
the day. Here is a chance for the crusaders against evil 
and pernicious results from the output of promiscuous 
books. A large percentage of reading is done without any 
purpose in view other than to ''kill time." Not only does 
this habit accomplish this object, but it just as effectually 
kills the intellect of the reader. It is not only a wanton 
waste of time, but it destroys mental energy. It has much 
the same effect that the opium habit has upon the fre- 
quenter of the joint. The brain becomes enervated ; it 
loses its power to discriminate and to retain what is really 
good. Passively receiving that which we force upon it, a 
deep-rooted aversion sets in against that which is really of 
a benefit. It is not that we are reading so much that is 
vicious, but that we are reading in a vicious manner so 
much that might be of advantage to us did we stop within the 
bounds of reason ; did we not carry more grist to the mill 
than it is capable of grinding and refining. But after all, 
if you please, the most mistaken people are those who do 
not read at all. 

. • 

American Veterans 

By Otis G. Hammond 

/^V^E following document is copied from the original 
' \Jj \ j now in the possession of Mrs. Martha A. Lewis 
of Bowling Green, Missouri, a descendant of one 
of the signers, Samuel Marsh, Jr. It seems to be the only 
surviving evidence of a patriotic movement in Plainfield, 
N. H., and vicinity at the beginning of the War of 1812. 
No proof has been found that the signers completed their 
organization and equipped themselves for service, and it is 
practically certain that they were not, as a body, called 
upon to defend the state. The restrictions which they put 
upon their service, more particularly the limitation of their 
sphere of action to one hundred miles from home, would 
have kept them at a safe distance from any of the conflicts 
of the war. 

This is, however, a notable document, relic of a praise- 
worthy movement. The only motive of the signers was a 
love of their country, and a careful reading gives us reason 
to believe that they offered all they had. They say they 
were exempt by law from military service. This probably 
means that they were more than forty years of age, beyond 
which at that time no man could be called upon to bear 
arms. Then they styled themselves the "American Vet- 
erans." If they were veterans of any war service, it must 
have been at the time of the Revolution, and that war had 
ended nearly thirty years before this paper was signed. 
By the ordinary manner of reckoning then these men were 
nearer fifty years old than forty, if we assume that they were 
veterans of the Revolution. In view of this consideration 
their desire for short terms of service and a field of action 
near home seems only natural. They offered their services, 
not for any campaign of aggression, but as a defense of 



their homes and the state against invasion, and as a safe- 
guard against internal disorders, signs of which they had 
seen to verge upon actual treason: 

Whereas the united States of amarica (after Every 
Consiliatory Measure has failed of Securing a just an Hon- 
ourable peace,have been Driven by the multiplied wrongs and 
Continued insults of Great Brittain to Declare war against 
her & her Dependencies, — and under a full Conviction of the 
Justice of the Cause in which our Government have imbarked 
— and Since Every Citizen is protected in his life property 
and Character, by the Constitution or Constituted author- 
ities of these united States, we believe it to be the Duty as 
well as interest of Every amarican Citizen to lend his aid 
at all times in Support of our General Government, and 
perticularly So in times like the present Crisis, when at 
war with a foreign nation whose atrosity towards the united 
States Exceeds all national forbearance, wantonly Seizing 
our property on the ocean the Great Highway Destined by 
the God of nature as the free pasport of all nations, and 
inhumanly Seizing human bodies free born amaricans and 
Confining them in worse than african Slavery on board 
their floting prisons, and many other Species of fraud and 
Contempt Contrary to the long Established rules of law 
and usage of nations from time immemorial, Such as Send- 
ing Secret Spies among us in time of peace to foment Dis- 
cord Striving for a Dismemberment of our happy union, 
and While we here from Some of our own Citizens (from 
whom we might hope for better things) treasonable propo- 
sitions tending to Disunion, and while we See Secret polit- 
ical societies or Combinations formed and forming, which 
have proved Distructive to nations in all former ages, and 
which our benevolent Washington Cautioned to watch and 
Guard against, therefore we the undersigned Exemt by 
Law from military Duty Considering the Exigences of the 
times voluntaraly tender our services to the public and Do 
hereby agree to form ourselves into a military Company or 
Companies by the name of the amarican veterans, under 


Such rules and regulations as is herein after named which 
we most Solemnly pledge ourselves and our Sacred Hon- 
ours at all times to respect and maintain namely 

that we will furnish ourselves with arms and accoutre- 
ments of a good Quality Equal to those required by law of 
the Soldiers of the militia in this state (unless we Should 
be furnished by the State or Some other means) and we 
engage to yeald due obedience at all times to the officers 
which we Shall Select from among our numbers of Sub- 
scribers to this instrument (with Due Submission to officers 
of Higher Rank) and that we will Exert ourselves in Sup- 
pressing any invation or any usurpation of power or any 
attempts thereunto or any acts of violence against Govern- 
ment or their Constituted authorities, and in all Such meas- 
ures as Shall Conduce to the preservation of peace and 
order among our fellow Citizens, in promoting Concord, in 
maintaining the authority and Efficacy of the laws and 
Supporting and invigorating which may be adopted by the 
Constituted authority of our government During the 
Contest with Great Brittain, for obtaining a Speedy, a Just, 
and an Honourable peace, provided we are not Called to 
march more than one Hundred Miles Contrary to the Con- 
sent of a majority of the Company, and provided we are 
not held in actual Service more than twenty days at any 
one time — 

and we further agree that a majority of Said Company 
when met together Shall have a right to make alter or 
amend any of the by laws for the regular Governing of said 
Company provided they do not interfere with the main 
Design of the inrollment of Said Company or the Laws of 
the land — 

To all the foregoing articles we Cherfully subscribe 

John Harris Ezra Buswell 

James Smith Merril Colby 

David Read Obed Lamberton 

Charles Scott Joseph Kimball 



Edward Fifield 
William Williams 
John Leavitt 
Reuben Moors 
Joseph Fifield 
Dudley Leavitt 
Tho s Chellis 
Jesse Lamphear 
Richard purmort 2 nd 
John underhill Ju r 
John Stevens 
John Merril 
Sam 1 Marsh Ju r 
Azel Dunbar 
Sam 1 Bean 
Josiah Fifield 
Snire Wilson 
James Breck 
W m Silliway 
Joseph R. Foss 
Samuel Cooper 
Moses Walker 
Stephen Powers Ju r 
Isaac Colby 
Whitman Jacobs 
Peter Barton 
Timothy Winter 
Levi Dodge 
Daniel Stone 
Moses P. Durkee 
Jonathan Wakefield 
[Endorsed] Copy of 
veterans in plainfield &c 

Timothy Cory 
Perly Roberts 
Stephen Gage 
Oliver Dutton 
Nath 1 Leavitt 
Phinehas Cowls 
Nathen Andrews 
Rufus Wheeler 
John Gove 
Merrill Coburn 
Alexander Kinyon 
Joseph Taylor Ju r 
John Dunbar Ju r 
Noah Cory 
Francis Newton 
John Spalding 
Enos Robarts 
Rufus Start 
David Fifield 
Prince Crosby 
Clark Emerson 
John Rawson 
Stephen Eastman 
David Powers 
Samuel Goldthwait 
Elisha Partridge 
John Melendy 
Follansbe Conrid 
Josiah Starnes 
Nathan Gould 

the inlistment of the amarican 

By Hezekiah Butterworth 

y|^NE April morning in the early part of the present 
V^^F century, a very curious group of farmers might 
^*r have been seen in an old blacksmith's shop near 
the village of Henniker, N. H., intent on discussing a 
remarkable event that had recently occurred in the neigh- 

A common farm horse, of no especial note except that 
it was white, had walked in the night across the deep tor- 
rents of Contoocook River at a point where the bridge had 
been lately washed away by a freshet, carrying a young 
woman on his back. The river at the time was swollen, 
and from twelve to fifteen feet deep. The night was dark 
and cloudy, and had followed an early spring tempest, 
which the farmers had called the "breaking up of winter." 
The young woman was not aware that the bridge had been 
carried away until the day after this mysterious crossing of 
the swollen stream. 

The event was regarded as well-nigh miraculous, and 
had caused great excitement in the usually quiet little 
village. The proof was positive that the horse had crossed 
the torrent, and people came daily to visit the old white 
animal in the stable, and the poor creatnre that had led an 
uneventful life of good and steady service among the roads, 
fields, and pastures of the Contoocook received the name 
of The Miraculous Horse. 

How many people in Henniker many years ago were 
familiar with the story of The Enchanted Horse in the 
"Arabian Nights," or with the Magic Horse of Dan 
Chaucer's delightful fiction, we do not know. But many of 
them were proud that their town had produced a horse that 
could walk upon the water, even if he could not fly. 



There were other people, in a very small minority, as 
is usual in such cases, or was at that time, who believed 
that some natural explanation could be found for the feat 
of the water-walking horse, and that time would bring to 
light some curious solution of the mystery. 

Such was the state of the public mind on this blue 
April morning that found a gathering of rugged farmers at 
the old New Hampshire smithy. 

The occasion of the extraordinary gathering was as 
follows : 

Smith Smart, the honest blacksmith, had been told 
the day before, by Samuel Samson, the owner of the Mirac- 
ulous Horse, that the latter would ride over to the smithy 
the next morning: and have the white horse shod. The 
interesting animal had not been shod since he had walked 
upon the water on the cloudy night. Smith Smart there- 
fore regarded the shoeing of the horse as a matter of no 
common concern, and he had told his friends to "come 
around" and see the shoes set on the miraculous roadster 
and further discuss the mystery. 

"What time did Samson say that he would be here?" 
asked old Judge Campbell, stamping the snow from his 
feet and holding his great hands over the fire of the 

"About nine, I guess," said the blacksmith, bearing 
down on the lever of the bellows, and so sending a red 
flame into the air which touched the Judge's coat sleeve. 

"Cracky, don't you burn me," said the Judge. "I am 
not made of iron or steel, if I do sit upon the bench and 
administer justice. There he comes now, I do declare. I 
don't know how it may be with the rest of you, but I can't 
see anything peculiar about that old white horse. He is 
just a horse, a white horse to me, and I wouldn't have 
given twenty dollars for him before he walked across the 
Contoocook on the water." 

Farmer Samson came riding up to the smithy. He 
had often done so 'before, as now, on horseback, and neither 


he nor the horse had been objects of any special interest to 
anybody. But he came now gravely and silently, as though 
he were a prophet and the heavens were about to fall, and 
the old farmers gaped at the horse with open mouths and 
wide eyes. The farmer dismounted and left the horse 
standing in the April sun, that poured through the great 
doors of the smithy. 

"Well," he said at last, ''there he is. If you can shoe 
the air and the water, shoe him. These are solemn times, 
Judge, solemn times. Signs and wonders, wheels within 
wheels, like Ezekiel's vision ; and I don't know what the 
world is a-comin' to. I sometimes think that the times of 
Cotton Mather and ghosts and flying women are about to 
return again to New England. It is a mystery why fate 
should set its sign on that old white horse, but so it is." 

The horse stood there very quiet and demure. He did 
not look as though he had been the medium of any special 
revelation. He did not so much as wink. He was worn 
with hard work of many years ; had an intelligent, reliable 
look; did not fear the forge and seemed to be glad that 
spring had come and to enjoy the sunshine. No one would 
have taken him for an oracle. 

"Samson, did you ever notice anything peculiar about 
that horse before that awful night?" asked the Judge. 

"No ; only he is the most sure-footed animal I ever 
had. Whatever I set him to doin', he will do, — plow with- 
out a driver, furrow without lines, go home from mill ail 
alone with a bag of meal on his back and leave the grist at 
the door. He never had no antics nor capers, nor nothin' 
of that kind ; but he has had the strongest horse-sense of 
any animal I ever knew. Seems as though sometimes he 
had a soul. I always thought that I would hate to kill him 
when he became old, he might haunt me. 

"He carried me to be married, and bore away two of 
my children to their graves ; and Martha would have been 
dead, too, if he hadn't a-walked over the water like a spirit 
horse in the dead o' night, under the scudding clouds, and 


brought the doctor just in the nick o' time. Poor old Jack! 
there are not many more weddings and funerals for you to 
go to in my family. I do think, Judge, that there ought to 
be some law to protect an old family horse, — a hospital, or 

Samson twined his fingers in the animal's mane. 

"I always noticed that that animal had a kind of far-away 
look in his eye, as though he was sort of pryin' into 
futurity, "said old Deacon Bonney. "It's a case like Balaam, 
you may depend. It ain't no use talkin' ; your M artha is a good 
woman, and she was goin' to die without a doctor, and the 
powers above just let the good old white horse have his 
way ; and he went over the river, waterfalls and all, dry 
shod, like the Israelites of old. He was uplifted." 

"He never went over the Contoocook River dry shod, 
without there was somethin' under his feet," said the village 
schoolmaster, Ephraim Cole, who had come with the rest, 
as the day was Saturday and a holiday. "Even the Israel- 
ites had the wind to help them. 

"There are no effects without causes, and that horse 
went across the river in some perfectly natural way, you 
may be sure. Wait and see. Time will tell the truth 
about all things." 

"Samson," said the Judge, "I want you to tell us the 
true story of that night, while Smart sets the shoes on 
that marvelous animal." 

Smith Smart plied the lever again. The forge began 
to blaze. Some new shoes were dropped into the fire, and 
the blacksmith began to pare down the horse's hoofs with 
his steel scraper. The horse was quite used to these things 
and did not move, except at the will of the smith. 

"He is the patientest horse to be shod that ever I see," 
said Smart. "Always was. I noticed that years ago. I 
always thought that there was somethin' mysterious about 

The men sat down on sooty benches and boxes, and 
Samson began his strange story. 


"Well, this was how it was, this way, as I remember. 
It was early in March, of a Tuesday night. Wife began to 
feel sick in the evening ; chills, and fever flashes. Then 
she began to have a difficulty of breathin' and I see that 
she was threatened with pneumonia, and says I to Minnie, 
my daughter, 4 You bridle Jack and go for the doctor as 
quick as you can. 'Tis a dark night, but Jack knows the 
way. He's been after the doctor in the night before. 
Wrap up warm and don't mind the thunder. It will be 
cold when you cross the bridge, so wrap up warm:' 

"I hadn't heard then that the bridge had been carried 
away by the freshet. Well, Minnie, she bridled up Jack 
and started. It was a troubled night ; I could hear the 
wind in the branches of the trees and see the clouds scud 
across the half-moon. The wind was keen and Minnie 
drew the shawl over her head, and gave Jack the rein and 
let him go. 

"Well, when they came to the bridge, or the place 
where the bridge was, Minnie drew the shawl more closely 
about her ears, and dropped the rein, and Jack walked 
right across the river, carefully like, and Minnie never so 
much as thought that there was no bridge there, except 
once during a flash o' lightning. The water was pouring 
down from the hill in torrents. There hadn't been such a 
freshet for years. Minnie called the doctor and returned 
in the same way. 

."The doctor came late and found wife very sick, and I 
incline to think that his comin' just saved her. After 
givin' her medicines, he said to me, said he, 'I should have 
been here before, but for the 'bridge being washed away. 
It is a bad road round.' 

"'The bridge washed away?' said I. 'No, doctor, said 
Minnie, 'the bridge is not washed away. I went over it 
and came back the same way.' 

"'No, no,' said the doctor, said he, in surprise, 'there is 
no bridge over this part of the Contoocook. You must 
have been dreaming, Minnie. The horse went round.' 


" 'No, doctor, I crossed the bridge direct. You would 
find it so by the horse's tracks. There was a minute or 
two that seemed to me kind o' strange. There came a 
flash of lightning and all around me looked like water." 

"Wife was better in the morning and I had to go to 
the river. I followed the tracks of Jack, goin' and comin'. 
The horse certainly went to the river, and as Minnie was 
gone but half an hour, and it would have been an hour's 
hard riding to have gone and returned the other way, the 
horse surely crossed the river. 

"But to make the matter clear beyond a doubt, Min- 
nie's scarf blew off while crossing the river, and we saw it 
on the next day at the place that she crossed on a rock in 
the river. My hired man found the horse's tracks on the 
other side of the river. — No, sure as preachin', and the 
stars above us, that horse crossed the river with Minnie on 
his back. It was a supernatural event of some kind. The 
horse crossed the bridge and there was no bridge to 

There was another confirmation to this amazing story 
— a rheumatic old woman living near the river, who stood 
by her window that night, looking out on the breaking 
clouds. There came a flash of lightning and she saw a 
white horse with a black rider, walking on the water in the 
middle of the river. She said that she had seen her "death 

A long silence followed the emphatic "there" of the 
blacksmith. It was broken by the mathematical school- 

"Will you let me ride the horse down to the river after 
he is shod ? If Minnie could cross where there is no 
bridge, I can." 

"You can ?" exclaimed a chorus of voices. 

"Just follow me," he continued. "I think I can show 
you all how a horse can walk upon the water. What has 
been done can be done." 


Mounting the horse, the schoolmaster rode to the edge 
of the swollen river, where the old bridge had been. But 
he did not stop there. Old Jack went on, not stepping far 
into the water, but seemingly walking upon it. Very care- 
fully went the horse, but steadily, as though feeling his 
way. The men gazed in wonder. 

"That stream is ten feet deep," said one. 

"Was there ever such a sight before, a horse walking 
on the water ?" said another. 

When Jack reached the other side, the old school- 
master turned his head and waved his hat. He then 
turned the horse's head and the two came back again, like 
a general and his war steed. It was noticed that before 
taking a step forward, Jack lifted high his right forefoot 
and very carefully felt for a place on which to rest it, as 
though there were hard and reliable places in the gliding 

As soon as the schoolmaster returned, he clasped the 
horse around the neck and said : 

"Jack, you are a good animal and know more than 
most other people do." 

The farmers began to investigate. They walked into 
the river. They found that they, too, could walk upon the 
water. A line of posts covered by wide strips of board 
belonging to the old bridge had not been carried away, but 
remained about half a foot under the surface, the foaming 
current passing over them. 

'Time tells the truth about all things," repeated the 
schoolmaster, "and there are no effects without causes." 

"That was risky business," said the Judge. 

It was a very thoughtful procession that followed the 
trustworthy old white horse back to the smithy. Then the 
old breadcart man came along with a jingle of bells, and 
the Judge bought five cakes of gingerbread and treated 
the company at the blacksmith's. 

"Cracky," continued the Judge, philosophically, "Fin- 
gers are fingers and thumbs are thumbs. If we haven't a 


miraculous horse, we have a miraculous schoolmaster. Let 
us be thankful, Deacon. What do you say ? 

And the Deacon said "Amen." 

And the bluebirds sang, and the woodpeckers pecked, 
and flocks of robins chorused, "Cheer up, cheer up," in the 
gnarled old appletrees, and all the world went on happily 
as 1 before. 

^Tfje Cttj> m tfje J>ea 

By Thomas C. Hareaugh 

The city of Port Royal, Jamaica, engulfed by an earthquake in 1692, 
may still be seen from vessels sailing over it. — Author. 

Where the Queen of the Bahamas in her wondrous beauty lies, 
Impearled like some rare gem of old beneath the cloudless skies, 
There's a strange and silent city 'neath the ever restless wave, 
Whose streets are no more trodden by the lovely and the brave; 
Not a sound of merry laughter echoes thro' its buried homes. 
To those who sail above its site no strain of music comes; 
Not a bud adorns its gardens, not a bird sings in a tree, 
In the City of Port Royal, in the far-off Summer sea. 

The cathedral bells are silent, rusting in their steeples old, 
The pirate no more to it brings his stores of tainted gold, 
In and out its beauteous arbors ail day long the fishes swim, 
And the fretted aisles and arches there forevermore are dim; 
In its streets, forever silent, nevermore the children play, 
Where shone the golden tropic sun are shadows long and gray; 
The mother's heart no longer beats with happiness and glee, 
In that silent, sunken city in the golden tropic sea. 

No vessels seek its harbor with their silken flags unfurl'd, 

No longer to it proudly sails the commerce of the world; 

The morning of its glory like a vision fair hath fled, 

And the City of Port Royal is the "City of the Dead"; 

The song of joy departed when the blow terrific fell, 

The iron tongue grew silent in the old cathedral bell, 

From the priest's hand dropped the miter, died the bondman and the free, 

In that wondrous sunken city in the far-off Summer sea. 

Time will never solve the secrets that lie buried in the tide, 
Where the city of the tropics perished in its princely pride; 
Years may vanish in the future, they will ne'er relight its fires, 
And the winds will waft the navies of the world above its spires ; 
Nevermore its streets will echo to the tread of young and old, 
No hand will ever dare to rob its altars of their gold, 
For far beneath the billows and the Storm King in his glee, 
Lies the silent, sunken city in the far-off Summer sea. 

A Plain Tale of Plain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By George Waldo Browne 

[Copyright, 1906, by the Author] 
What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue! — Burke. 



Great lords, wise men ne'er sit down and wail their loss 
• But cheerly seek hew to redress their harms. 

— Sh akespea re. 

/^^HE appearance of the little party in the carnage 
' U M . brought a swift change over the scene. Those 
who had been intent listeners to Life Story's 
vivid speculations turned to look with curious gaze upon 
the new arrivals. Even the narrator forgot his golden 
vision, and stopped in the midst of his discourse to bite off 
a huge piece of tobacco, while he eyed them with close 
attention. Over on the further end of the platform a man 
who had been preoccupied with whittling a pine stick, with- 
out letting the dramatic explanations of the fluent Life 
disturb him, now checked his steady task and gazed with 
the others upon the new comers. 

"My! ain't 'em fellers stunners!" exclaimed a voice 
with a boyish accent from the background. "Where did 
Miss Nat pick 'em up? Regular stunners, both on 'em, but 
I b'lieve that un with th' broad shoulders is th' stunniest." 



Leonard Quiver, having sprung lightly to the ground, 
assisted Miss Newbegin to alight with a gallantry quite 
unknown among the swains of Sunset. 

"It's the squire's team," said one of the bystanders 
under his breath 

"They look like a couple of dukes I see in th' old 
country once," declared Life, as soon as he could get his 
tongue free enough to speak. "I remember I was in Liver- 
pool, where we had put in to land two passengers, and I 
was footin' it round to see th' sights. I always improved 
such chances to see the world, for a man who goes round 
whistling, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes half 
shut to enj'y th' music doesn't get any furder than his 
chimney corner, I don't keer if he goes to Morroccer. 
Well, as I was sayin," but having dropped a stitch in his 
fabric he found it no easy matter to pick it up. No one 
was paying any heed to his remarks, and Eliphalet Story 
was the last man to talk to an unappreciative audience. 

Freeman Newbegin was now alighting from the car- 
riage with greater dignity than had been shown by his 
companion, and one of the spectators overheard Miss New- 
begin reply to a query of- his: 

"Oh, yes ; they are meeting in the selectmen's room 
over the post-office. I will go up with you. Here, Sam, 
please hitch this horse. Do not take him out of the shafts, 
as he may be needed again." 

Though the town claimant would have very much pre- 
ferred to meet the selectmen without any third person 
being present, he graciously submitted to the will of this 
energetic country girl, who was the daughter of the man 
he most feared. A moment later he and his friend were 
following in silence up the dark, crooked stairway leading 
to the little dingy office. 

The door had been left open, so the new-comers had 
only to step forward into the apartment where the three 
men seated at the table looked up with surprise at this 
entrance of strangers. A swift glance on the part of the 


town claimant showed him the men whom he was obliged 
to meet in the great civil struggle ahead. More than at 
any time before was he impressed with the changes the 
score of years had imprinted upon this trio. Until this 
moment he had not noticed so vividly the waymarks Time 
had left upon the countenance of Deacon Goodwill, though 
he had been stopping under his roof for two days. Cap- 
tain Reed showed the weight of his increasing years more 
than either of his companions; Squire Newbegin less than 
the others, though his features had lost something of the 
color and symmetry of their former years. The massive 
chin had grown heavier, the lines about the mouth deeper 
and firmer, the well-rounded cheeks a greater fullness, 
while the searching blue eyes looked sharply upon him 
from beneath beetling brows that had become gray since 
he had been away. He could not shake off the ominous 
feeling that in this stern, keen-sighted countryman he was 
to meet no mean adversary. But the thought only served 
to arouse all the latent energy in his active nature, and the 
affair which at first had appealed to him as a huge joke now 
became a settled, inflexible reality. 

"I will win at any cost," he thought. This conclusion 
had barely flashed through his mind when their fair escort 

"Father, these gentlemen wish to talk with you and 
Deacon Goodwill and Captain Reed. Mr. Justin Bidwell, 

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bidwell," said the squire, step- 
ping forward without hesitation and clasping his hand in a 
firm grasp. "You are heartily welcome here, sir." The 
schemer returned the bluff, friendly greeting with a sang 
froid he was far from feeling, saying to himself, "He does 
not recognize me." "Happy to see you, sir," continued 
the selectman, turning to offer his hand to Leonard Quiver. 
"I think you came with Mr. Bidwell." 

"He is my cousin, Robert Bidwell," said Freeman, 
rallying quickly. 


"Exactly. In that case you must share my welcome 
with him. Now allow me to make you both acquainted 
with my colleagues, Captain Ebenezer Reed and Deacon 
Goodwill," indicating each in turn with a motion of his hand. 
He then sank back into his seat, saying : "Captain Reed is 
chairman of the board, and if it is on business you wish to 
see us he will listen to anything you have to say/' begin- 
ning to busy himself with a long column of figures. 

It would be difficult to describe the effect of the 
arrival of the very person whose name was still fresh on 
their minds as it was shown by Squire Newbegin's com- 
panions. With the deacon's surprise and dismay was min- 
gled a feeling of curiosity and uncertainty, as he half real- 
ized but could not fully satisfy himself that these two men 
were the same who had been enjoying the hospitality of 
his own home. But their altered attire, to say nothing of 
the changed expression of their countenances, both awed 
and bewildered him. He rubbed his eyes, brushed his nose 
and looked closely upon them ; then, repeating the actions 
which had become a sort of second nature with him, looked 
again, more in doubt than at first. 

In regard to Captain Eb, he could not see them clearly 
for the glamor which these well-dressed gentlemen had 
thrown over him by their sudden and ominous presence. 
Had they come in ordinary, everyday garb, appearing like 
common men, as he knew men, he would have felt on 
easier terms with them. As it was, he bowed awkwardly, 
cleared his throat of dry air, looked appealingly toward the 
squire and the deacon, and fell back into his chair without 
uttering a word. 

*'I suppose you got my letter," said Frerman New- 
begin in a firm but courteous tone 

"Ahem — ahem — ahem — ya'as, that is, seein\ I wus 
cheerman o' th' board — ahem — 'Lias, not knowin' if it be 
dead or livin', nacherally handed th' durned cur'us thing to 
me," replied the doughty captain, with a great effort though 
gaining confidence as he neared the end of his sentence. 


Deacon Goodwill was still watching the new-comers, and 
trying to solve the most knotty mental problem of his 

"I trust the lettter fully explained itself." 

"Wa'al, ya'as — ahem — that is, it took it a durned long 
while tu git here." 

"That was not my fault. Now that you have got it I 
wish to know what you are going to do about it." 

"Ahem — I see — that is, what did we think tu du about 
that letter, squire?" 

Squire Newbegin, thus directly appealed to, replied : 

"We did not think it of sufficient importance to con- 
sider, Captain. Of course the young man is willing to 
give us as long a time in which to consider the matter as it 
has taken him to notify us. By that time he will feel like 
letting the matter drop. How is it about that Whittle 
affair, Deacon ? Have you seen him and did you find out 
how long he had worked?" 

"Wull, yes; I kinder see him. Lish wants pay fer 
gohY both ways, an' I told him that wus onnatural, and 
thet he wus s'posed to git there on his own time, an' come 
back arter he'd got his day's work done." 

"Wanted pay for going and coming did he ? Wonder 
if he got down there and back in season for dinner ? I 
don't know as the town is liable for the time he loses. I'll 
fix it up with Lish when I see him. Guess if we pay him 
for three hours' work he will be satisfied," and the speaker 
returned to his figures. The captain sat vacantly looking 
at a hole in the plastering overhead, while the deacon began 
to fidget uneasily in his seat. 

The town claimant found himself thus placed in an 
awkward situation. This cool contempt of the man who 
was certainly the one he had got to fight did more to dis- 
concert him than any other course could have done. For a 
moment the man with "the concrete brain" and fertile 
resources was nonplussed. Choking back the bitter feeling 
which had arisen, he said in a low, firm tone : 


"If you have nothing further to say to-day, we shall 
bid you good afternoon. But I wish to say that the matter 
is not going to rest, and that this is the only opportunity 
you will have to effect any compromise." 

"Good day," said Squire Newbegin, without looking up 
from his work. His companions did not offer to speak, 
while the visitors walked sullenly out, Miss Newbegin hav- 
ing retired immediately after introducing them. 

"What do you make of it?" asked Leonard Quiver, as 
he followed his companion down the stairs. 

"Perhaps he thinks he can put us off in that way every 
time, but by the Prophet of the Temple of Silence he shall 
find that our next move is not to be ignored. I might have 
known he would have treated us in that manner, but I'll 
humble his pride before I am done." 

Leonard Quiver made no reply to this, but in his heart 
he wished already he had not entered into the affair. This 
may have been due largely to the fact that he had been 
suddenly wounded at the very outset of the fray by the 
barbed arrow of Eros, and he was beginning to picture 
above the smoke of the battle which must follow the fair 
face of the squire's daughter and to wonder in what light 
he would be placed. 

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O wad some power the giftie gie us 
To se oursels as ithers see us ' 

— Burns. 

f^fl FEW of the spectators remained outside the build- 
T~k ing. Squire Newbegin had entered his store, fol- 
^^f lowed by Captain Reed and others, while Deacon 
Goodwill, anxious to get home before nightfall, climbed 
into his high wagon with some difficulty and started home- 
ward, his mind still busy trying to solve the problem rela- 
tive to the identity of the town claimants. If any doubts 
remained about their being his guests they were finally 
removed when he looked back to find that they were follow- 
ing him with the squire's team. 

"Et's the cur'est thing I ever see," he muttered. "But 
ef I can git home before they do I'll set 'em goin'. Blame 
my pictur' ef I'm goin' to harbor two sich inimies. 

"Dratted cur'us," soliloquized the deacon, "thet th' 
squire should let 'em hev his hoss an' kerridge." In a 
peculiar state of mind, which can be better imagined than 
described, he reached his home. Throwing the reins over 
Bet's back, from a custom of his, thus allowing the mare to 
feed about the yard at her will until some one should come 
to remove her harness,. he hobbled into the house. If at 
first he had decided to send his guests away before they 
had alighted from the carriage, he had finally concluded to 
let them come into his house, when he would demand a set- 
tlement for what they were owing him, and then he would 
send them away. 

Upon reaching the yard Free Newbegin and his friend 
alighted from the carriage, and the first, after a few words 
with Enoch in regard to putting off a settlement with the 
owner of the team, sent him back to the village. Then the 


twain entered the house, Leonard Quiver whispering to his 
companion : 

"I'll wager you we have got to take particular tits 
from the deacon." 

Meanwhile their host had gained the sitting-room, 
coming with short, heavy steps which told the good house- 
wife that something of uncommon importance was on the 
mind of her liege lord. The stout stick he carried for a 
cane struck the floor with resounding thwacks, while his 
labored breathing told that he was undergoing some great 

"Why, Timothy, what has happened? I was afraid 
your rheumatism would return after rid — " 

"Dor drat th' rheumatiz !" fairly roared the irate man, 
flourishing his cudgel so close to her head that she had to 
dodge to escape a blow. "Et ain't th' rheumatiz thet hez 
has returned. Et's 'em dod-dratted — " 

"Hush, hush Timothy! Remember the dignity of 
your position as a member of the church. If Parson 
Windom should — " 

"I hain't talkin' fer the parson! I reckon he'd lay his 
religion on a shelf on a time like this. Et's 'em robbers 
I've been housin' an' feedin', 's fur 's I know fur nuthin', 
an' they comin' to steal my farm away from me ! Oh, let 
me git my cane over their pesky backs, an' I'll fix em' so 
it'll never do 'em any good." 

"For the land sake, Timothy, what do you mean? 
Who is going to steal your farm away from you ?" 

"Who's goin' to steal my farm away from me ? As ef 
yeou didn't know — th' farm father worked hisself to death 
for, and which I've drubbed and scrubbed fer, till my rheu- 
matiz overtook me — who, I say, but 'em ripscallions — oh, 
you needn't put on thet look, fer I reckon th' Lord would 
lose his temper at sich an outrage — an' I a-feedin' an' a-nus- 
sin' 'em, an' the Lord only knows when I shall git my 

(Begun in the July, 1906, number; to be continued) 

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Vol. III. APRIL, 1907. No. 4. 

Cfje pioneers of Antrim 

By Rev. William Hurlin 

For the facts given in this article I am mainly indebted to the valuable 
"History of the Town of Antrim, New Hampshire," by Rev. W. R. 
Cochrane, D. P., which was published in 1SS0, a few additional items having 
been obtained from Rev. Dr. Whiton's smaller history of Antrim, pub- 
lished many years before, perhaps in 1844. — Author. 

Cjf N 1741 two Scotchmen, born in Ireland, came from 
^k near Boston, Mass., and put up cabins near what is 
now Hilllsborough Bridge, and in 1743 three or four 
others joined them. One of these was Philip Riley who, 
in 1744, made a clearing near them, supposing it was in 
Hillsborough, but later, when the town lines were adjusted, 
it was found to be in Antrim. At that time there was not 
a white person in any part of the region near them which 
is now occupied by the towns of Henniker, Antrim, Deer- 
ing, Francestown, Greenfield, Hancock, Bennington and 
Stoddard. The Indians along and near the Contoocook 
River were then very troublesome, and in the early morn- 
ing of April 22, 1746, they attacked the white settlement of 
Hopkinton, taking eight persons captive. The news of this 
attack soon spread, and Riley In Antrim and his few neigh 
bors in Hillsborough hastily buried their tools with some of 
their furniture and, taking a few things with them and 
driving their cattle before them through the woods, sought 
a safer dwelling place. Thus ended the first settlement of 
Antrim and Hillsborough. 

Philip Riley went to Sudbury, Mass., and staid there 
fifteen years; but in the spring of 1761 he came back to 



find his cabin in the midst of a growth of young wood. 
This was the only building in the little settlement of which 
anything remained. He found his axe and other tools and 
began to prepare the way for bringing his family here. In 
1762 Daniel McMurphy and a few others returned to Hills- 
borough and settled not far from Riley. For five years the 
members of his family were the only inhabitants of Antrim. 
In the summer of 1766, James Aiken and six others came 
to the east and south portions of Antrim, near the present 
village, and staid a few months, though only Aiken finally 
settled here in 1767. The Riley and Aiken families were the 
only inhabitants of Antrim, living some six or seven miles 
apart, the former at the northeast and the latter at the 
south end of the town. 

Very little is known of Riley or his family. He was 
born in Ireland in 1719. His wife was an English woman 
named Sarah Joiner. They had eight sons and four daugh- 
ters. They brought some of these to Antrim, but others 
who were grown up remained behind. In his old age Riley 
became dependent on the town. The following record is 
in the town book under date of March, 1783 : 

"Voted, Michael Cochlan be freed of Raits this year, 
by providing for old Mr. Realy for this year." 

Dr. Cochrane also' writes that after this "Raleigh being 
a simple, peaceable old man, and pioneer of the town, he 
was kindly boarded round (by public vote,) till the close of 
1789, when he went to Sudbury and died there in 1791." 

The first name by which this man was known was 
Riley, but in the various references to him in the town rec- 
ords he is also called Rely, Reley, Realy, Raley, Ralley and 
Raleigh, and by this last name he appears in the genealog- 
ical records of the town history. 

In 1746 John Tufton Mason, a great-grandson and heir 
of John Mason, the original grantee of the district called 
New Hampshire, sold his title to a company of twelve per- 
sons in Portsmouth, who were called the "Masonian Pro- 


prietors." Early in 1766 they sent out an advertisement 
calling attention to the beautiful and fertile lands near the 
Contoocook River, between Hillsborough and Peterborough. 
This included what is now Antrim, Bennington, Deering, 
Hancock, and the west portions of Francestown and Green- 
field. At that time it was called "Cumberland," and after- 
wards "Company Land," and later "Society Land." 

In response to this advertisement, James Aiken and 
some six others come from Londonderry to Antrim in the 
early summer of 1766, and each selected a farm in the 
southeastern part of Antrim, did some clearing, and in the 
autumn returned to Londonderry to spend the winter. 
They came to Antrim with the idea that the lands were 
free, and they intended to return in the spring of 1767 but, 
finding they were mistaken, all but Aiken threw up their 
claims and did not return. But Aiken held on and paid for 
his one hundred and sixty acres a little less than fifteen 
dollars, or about nine cents an acre. He came back to 
Antrim very early in the spring of 1767 and completed his 
cabin and prepared his land, and in the summer went to 
Londonderry for his wife and five children. They reached 
Antrim August 12, 1767. His cabin was very near what is 
now the business portion of Antrim village, and his land 
reached to the Contoocook River. 

At that time bears and wolves were very common, and 
within ten weeks of Aiken's return to Antrim with his 
family his pigs running loose were killed by bears. He was 
able to raise very little that year, and provisions were 
scarce. There was no one near from whom more could be 
obtained. Philip Riley was his nearest neighbor, six or 
seven miles to the north. On the east in Deering were 
William McKeen and two others, some seven or eight miles 
off. About the same distance south, in Hancock, were John 
Grimes and another man, while on the west the nearest 
neighbor was at Walpole on the Connecticut River, some 
thirty miles distant. There were no roads, but dense 
woods all around. ^ 


In the fall of 1767, Thomas Nichols, a boy who had 
run away from the man to whom he was apprenticed in 
Newburyport, Mass., found his way to Aiken's cabin and 
staid there a number of years. The winter of 1767-68 
was a hard one, and in February one of the children died 
and Aiken and his wife had no neighbors to help bury it. 
He split an ash log into rough boards and made a casket, 
and he and Thomas carried it through the deep snow to a 
hill a little north of the cabin and there buried it. In 1781 
the body was removed to the new cemetery on Meeting 
House hill, some two miles off, in the center of the town. 
This was the first death in town, and about two months 
afterwards Mrs. Aiken gave birth to a daughter, the first 
white child born in Antrim. She married Ebenezer Kim- 
ball, and lived until December 14, 1862, being nearly ninety- 
five years old. 

In the summer of 1768, Mr. Aiken went to New Bos- 
ton for corn and was detained there four days on account 
of lameness, and then had to carry the corn on his back 
some sixteen miles through the woods. Soon after he left 
Antrim the cows were missing, and on Friday and Satur- 
day they were searched for in vain, and as the family 
depended on the milk for food they were badly off. On 
Sunday morning a flock of pigeons alighted on a tree near 
the cabin, and because they were starving Mrs. Aiken 
allowed the boy to shoot at them. Only one was brought 
down, but that made into a broth helped the family, and in 
the afternoon the cows were found in the woods, some nine 
miles south. 

The nearest grist-mill was in Hillsborough. One day 
in the fall of 1768 Mr. Aiken and the boy Nichols started 
through the woods with a bushel and a half of grain on 
their shoulders. On reaching Riley's cabin, some six miles 
off, they learned that the mill was undergoing repairs and 
would not grind for several days. Leaving the grain at 
Riley's they returned home that they might try at Peter- 
borough, some twelve miles off. Mr. Aiken concluded that 


the easiest way would be to go up the river, and when he 
had towed his load some nine or ten miles the canoe cap- 
sized, and the grain went to the bottom of the river and 
could not be recovered until it was spoiled. Aiken returned 
home very much disappointed, and the family had to get 
along for a time without bread of any kind. In the spring 
of 1769 Mr Aiken built a barn, which was the first frame 
building in Antrim. The timber was got out by hand near 
by, but the boards were sawed in Hillsborough and drawn 
home on the ice of the river. Later in the same year he 
built a new log house, which was a great improvement on 
the one he had built two years before. It was made of 
peeled logs, and the children called it their "new white 

In the fall of 1769 John Gordon, a Scotchman who had 
served in the British Army, came to Aiken's and seems to 
have remained there a long time. In the spring of 1770, 
the Contoocook River overflowed its bounds, and shut off 
the Aiken's from the rest of the world during a large part 
of March, and the family were without bread of any kind 
for several weeks. While thus shut off, Mrs Aiken gave 
birth to her second Antrim daughter, Nancy, who died 
unmarried in 18 14. As soon as he could wade the river, 
Mr. Aiken went to New Boston for a nurse and meal, leav- 
ing his wife and five small children in the care of John 
Gordon. In April of that year another wanderer, George 
Beman, found his way to the Aiken cabin and asked to be 
allowed to stay and work for his board, and he staid there 
several years. He was a good scholar and for a time was a 
teacher in the Aiken family. The first male child in 
Antrim was born in the spring of 1772, and he was named 
James (Aiken) after his father. In 1774 there were fifteen 
families in Antrim, making an aggregate population of 
about sixty-four persons. 

As soon as the news from Concord and Lexington, 
Mass., reached Antrim, in April, 1775, all the men in the 
town met at Mr. Aiken's, and without returning home all 


but two of them started for Massachusetts. The women 
sat up all night and prepared food and other necessaries, 
with which one of the two followed the next day, and John 
Gordon, who was probably a deserter from the British 
army, was the only man left in Antrim. He enlisted soon 
afterwards. The company marched to Tyngsboro, Mass., 
and there met General Stark, who told them there were 
men enough near Boston for the present, and advised them 
to return home and plant their corn, and hold themselves 
in readiness to march at a moment's notice, which they did. 
Every man of them, seventeen in all, served for a longer or 
shorter time in the Revolutionary Army. 

In September, 1775, the first sermon in Antrim was 
preached in Mr. Aiken's barn by Rev. William Davidson 
of Londonderry, and after this there was occasional preach- 
ing by different ministers. On one occasion, when Mr. 
Aiken was conveying Rev. John Morrison of Peterborough 
to preach in Antrim, the boat was overturned and both of 
them fell into the river, when Mr. Morrison barely escaped 
drowning. It was generally understood at that time that 
the Aiken family always "took care of the ministers." The 
town of Antrim was incorporated in 1777, and in 1779 
James Aiken was chosen by the town as "the first Tayith- 
ing (Tithing) man in Antrim," and when, August 2, 1788, 
a Presbyterian church was organized, James Aiken was 
chosen the first of the three elders of the church. 

James Aiken was born in Londonderry, N. H., of 
Scotch-Irish parentage, June 1, 1731. He was the second 
permanent settler in Antrim, and he died in Antrim July 
27, 1 81 7, aged eighty-six years. His wife was Molly Mc- 
Farland, and she died December 3, 18 14, aged seventy- 
eight years. They brought five children with them to 
Antrim and four others were born in Antrim. Although 
six of their children married, I do not know of any of their 
descendants now living in Antrim. 

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«£ur ifatfcers; of 01b 

Song of the Saxon Foresters 
By Nondescript 

Awake to the bugle's call! 
Awake from the sluggard's thrall ! 
The bonny deer bids to the chase — 
So, 'way to the greenwood race ! 

Our fathers of old 

Were foresters bold, 
Who roamed the greenwood free. 
Their home the great oaken tree ; 
And firm in their heart's reliance, 
They flung to their foes defiance ! 

From over the waters came, 
To wreak on our fathers shame, 
With ruthless flame and sword, 
The swaggering Norman horde. 

Our fathers of old, 

Those foresters bold, 
Who hunted the bonny deer, 
Knowing no dread nor fear, 
Their kingdom the greenwood free. 
Their castle the old oak tree ! 

The Red King, in arrogant scorn, 
Our forefathers bade begone ! 
**No more is the greenwood thine ! 
The bonny brown deer is mine !" 

Our fathers of old, 

Those foresters bold, 
As one, in their might uprose. 
To battle their haughty foes, 
Until of that lordly train 
Was many a Norman slain. 



They humbled the Norman pride, 
Till gladly the Red King cried : 
"While grows the stout oaken tree, 
The foresters shall be free !" 
Our fathers of old, 
Those foresters bold, 
"Who won from the Norman band 
The rights of their native land, 
Lived under the great oak tree, 
Their kingdom the greenwood free I 

Our kingdom the greenwood free ! 
Our castle the strong oak tree ! 
Then blow ye, the bugle blow, 
And bend the avenging bow! 
Our fathers of old 
Were foresters bold, 
And e'en as our fathers fought, 
When freedom and right were sought, 
Should Normans forget their vow, 
We'll fight for our freedom now ! 

Hurrah for the bugle's blast! 

Hurrah for the greenwood vast ! 

The twang of the merry bow, 

And chase of the bounding roe! 
Our fathers of old 
Were foresters bold, 

Who won from the Norman band 

The rights of our native land; 
"While grows the stout oaken tree, 

The foresters shall be free !" 

Carlp luteins of 


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CONCORD is the oldest capital in New England. 
Here in the misty days of the primeval power of 
the Pennacooks, long before the historian rises to 
describe an empire wider and more far-reaching than the 
territory belonging to the state to day, it was the seat of 
power. It seemed eminently fitting, therefore, that the 
conquerors of this race, which passed as the leaves of the 
forest, should look upon the spot as the site of their capi- 
tal. Concord is most fortunately situated for the center of 
power in a state. It does not seek the distinction of its 
sister cities in the Merrimack Valley, and it is well that it 
does not. 

Tradition says that the first settler in what was then 
known as Pennacook was Capt. Ebenezer Eastman, who 
built a block-house here in 1727 and moved into it with his 
family. The territory was granted by Massachusetts Jan- 
uary 17, 1725, to Benjamin Stevens and ninety-nine others, 
and it was laid out the following year seven miles square. 
Captain Eastman was one of these grantees. At first the 
Indians, who were Pennacooks, were friendly, but for 
nearly twenty years, from 1744 to 1762, almost constant 
alarm from the Indians kept the inhabitants awakened to a 
sense of their dangerous situation. In 1746 as many as 
seven garrisons were built to protect the homes of the 
families. Despite these precautionary movements an 
attack from the Indians took place August 11, 1746, when 
five men were killed and two carried off as captives. At 
the time of the Revolution Concord contained 1,052 inhab- 
itants, and the town proved its faithfulness to the cause in 
no uncertain manner. The convention which framed the 
State Constitution in 1783 met here, and in 1805 it became 
the permanent seat of State Government. 





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ANC HESTER was a noted place with the 
Indians long before the white settlers came, on 
account of the fisheries at Namaske Falls and 
around Lake Massabesic, "Place of Much Water." The 
first white man to build a cabin within what now comprises 
the territory was John McNiel, who was sent to the Falls 
to look after the interests of the Scotch-Irish people in 
Londonderry. This was probably in 1722. No perma- 
nent settlement was made, however, until the grant of 
Tyng Township in April, 1735. From that date a slow but 
certain growth followed until 1 75 1 , when upon September 
3 a town was incorporated under the name of Derry field. 
This name clung to it all through the long and sanguinary 
years of the French and Indian War, the Revolution, and 
the Reconstruction and Constitutional period following the 
struggle for Independence. In 18 10 its name was changed 
to Manchester, so called after Manchester, England, upon 
the suggestion of Hon. Samuel Rlodget, and its era of pros- 
perity may be said to have dawned. Blodget's canal had 
been completed three years before, and for thirty-five years 
the Merrimack was the maritime highway of business enter- 
prises. Up and down its rocky banks ran the canals along 
which was moved nearly all of the merchandise for the cities 
from Pawtucket Falls to Concord, and also for the interior 
towns of the state. In this stirring period Manchester exer- 
cised, as it always has, a leading part in the development of 
the Merrimack Valley. The first saw-mills, built before the 
opening of the century by Blodget and Stark, were suc- 
ceeded by the first of the mills that were destined to 
inaugurate one of the greatest manufacturing industries in 
the world, which has been instrumental in the upbuilding 
of the metropolis of New Hampshire. The first car came 
up the valley in 1842. 









ASHUA was a part of the old township of Dun- 
stable, and became a separate hamlet under the 
name it now bears in 1S03. The date of its set- 
tlement is uncertain, but must have been as early as 1673, 
when it belonged to Dunstable. From 1675 to 1723 this terri- 
tory was constantly threatened by the Indians, and it seems 
almost miraculous that it should have escaped as lightly as it 
did, while Exeter, Dover and Portsmouth were ravaged 
almost yearly. No doubt this fortunate outcome was due 
largely to the fact that Dunstable held some of the most 
noted Indian fighters of the day. It was not until the close 
of the French and Indian Was in 1763 that the inhabitants 
at last breathed with a feeling: of safety. 

Growth developed slowly through the years that fol- 
lowed. During the Revolution the handful of people 
(there were 128 in Dunstable capable of bearing arms) 
was loyal to the cause of liberty. In 1793 there were no 
dwellings where now stands the city. July 4, 1803, the 
village, called until then Indian Head, was given the name 
of Nashua, and the natal day of the future city had dawned. 
In 1842 that part of the town north of Nashua River was 
set off by the name of Nashville, but in 1853 it was united 
with the village on the south, and Nashua obtained its city 

Its water power first attracted the attention of manu- 
facturers in 1820, and from that time the development of 
its privileges led to a rapid and healthy growth of popula- 
tion. The Nashua Manufacturing Company received its 
charter in 1823, and from this beginning a large class of 
manufacturing interests succeeded. The number of its 
inhabitants was approximately ten thousand at the time 
our artist made the picture accompanying this article. The 
view was from the tower of Mount Pleasant school-house. 






. >JA 

ftemtntsccnces of ^eto Honbon ano 
Colbp Hcaoemp 

By Maurice Baldwin 

•g^^XE Sunday afternoon, last autumn, with a few 
\£ k/ hours to spare before leaving Lake Sunapee on an 
evening train, I drove over the beautiful road that 
approaches New London from the east. After a few miles, 
rising above the hills that circle the Lake, New London 
Hill came into view — a long dominant mound against the 

With its appearance there was a gradual revival of far 
away recollections and impressions, which, twenty years 
before, had made their indelible and charming record upon 
my memory; for it was on this Hill and in its fine academy 
of Colby that I spent one of the happiest years of my 
my boyhood. 

Since the day I had ridden to Potter Place in an old 
stage coach and taken a train for the world outside its 
guardian hills, I had never an opportunity to revisit New 
London; and so, on this sleepy Sabbath afternoon, warm 
with the autumnal sunlight and silent in its beauty of clear 
sky and coloring foliage, it was not strange that the mem- 
ories of that untroubled year of the past, separated from 
the present by so many changes, should have seemed to me 
like the memory of some bright dream. 

On the last stretch of road that brings one from 
Sunapee into the town of New London, it dips to a little 
valley, and the houses and the church and the school build- 
ings lie ranged before the vision in almost their total array. 
It is a poem of pastoral calm and charm. The town, it may 
be said, consists of one long street lying north and south 



OYer the entire length of the lozenge-shaped eminence; 
and along this wide road, flanked toward the Academy build- 
ings by a plank walk, are the homes of the students; a 
grocery store, or what is here called a "General" store; a 
combination post office, drug store and soda fountain ; and 
the homes of residents whose names, for the most part, are 
frequent in the history of the place. 

As I drove from the "Four Corners," at which point 
the Sunapee road enters the village the scroll of my mem- 
ories unrolled and I experienced the pleasure of looking 
upon landmarks and sights that, half-forgotten in the lapse 
of years, nevertheless brought back to me vividly the 
souvenirs of my life here. I followed the street to its end, 
stopping only once, — at a house where I had once roomed 
and the people there remembered me. There was not a 
human being in sight on the whole street. The languid 
sunlight gleamed on the tinted maple leaves and made 
golden squares of the windows of the houses; and I recalled 
how strange this Sabbath calm seemed to me when I first 
came to New London — the Puritan Sabbath of my ances- 
tors, spent in the reading of the Bible, in silence, and in 
preparation for the devotional service of the evening. 

It is good sometimes to find things unchanged. With 
one forceful absence — the fine brick building — the Academy 
Building — consumed by hre after I left New London, all 
was exactly the same: a solitary vine-clad chimney serves 
as monument for that large structure in which, originally, 
were the chapel, the dormitories for girls, and the chief 
class rooms of the school. I only had changed, it seemed; 
and I felt regret that no wise beneficent person had discov- 
ered this fine opportunity to give back to the Colby corpo- 
ration a building adequate for the harboring of its noble 

There is about New London the poetic grace of old 
things that have not passed away, and which one wishes 
might never disappear. One feels that there is yet to be 
found in these homes old mahogany tables and high-boys, 


blue china and pewter tea sets. All the quaint beauty and 
simplicity of traditional New England life, its strength and 
its honesty, its candor and purpose, must still exist in the 
lives of the people of :his region and are in the very aspect 
of the place in which they dwell. 

For all my earliest recollections were of things and 
modes of living quite different from these. The first 
memories of my life are of the flat lands of Kentucky, 
where I was born, a pretty monotony of low country ; of a 
little town whose streets were infested with negroes and 
pigs. (Fancy, pigs in the public square of a New England 
village!) At the close of the war these little southern 
towns were teeming with the hatred, the weakness, the 
boastful futility of the south. Life in the only school I 
ever attended in the town of my nativity was a perpetual 
conflict for a boy whose parentage was of the north. And 
the name of ''Yankee," the commonest jeer that was flung 
at me in those days is still hateful, because it evokes from 
the store of primary memories nothing but a recollec- 
tion of tears, blackened eyes and sore muscles — the only 
tribute which the childhood of that place could pay to the 
child of a victorious cause. In those days, less muscular 
than alert, I fought whatever had to be fought; and I 
learned the difference between a sense of danger, which I 
always feel, and physical fear, which I seldom feel ; for 
fight, after all, is fight; and one of two must always be the 

Childhood is full of anticipations and of dreams. I 
lived in a country where the streams were yellow with 
mud; where the woods were haunted with insects, snakes, 
lizards, ticks and briars; where the negroes made every 
thing and every place impossible of enjoyment. 

The most beautiful fairy tales of my childhood in that 
sordid country of Kentucky, were my mother's stories of 
her far-off birth-place — in a land of hills- and snow-capped 
mountains, where there were brooks of clear water, splash- 
ing over granite boulders, and in which little fishes that 



seemed to be covered with jewels, disported themselves. 
And there were no ticks and bugs ; no snakes and lizards 
to prevent a boy from rolling in the grass of the meadows, 
as on a velvet carpet. 

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There were hillside fields in that country that were 
covered in the summertime with daisies, oceans of daisies; 
and along the woodland roads were wealths of golden-rod 
and asters; there were buttercups ; and in the little ponds 


and the still places of the streams the wonderful white 
pond-lilies, which were only to he seen in the south under 
glass covering's, imitation wax-flowers, of which there are 
still vague memories in the houses of old ladies. 

Under the trees, beneath a carpet of dead leaves, were 
to be found in the spring time the star- 1 . ike blossoms of the 
trailing arbutus, fragrant and of the tenderest pink and 
white ; and a little later, about the huge rocks that covered 
the fields, and near the stone walls that enclosed them — 
instead of the ugly rail fences that I knew — there were 
blue-berries and wintergreen-berries; and the first were 
delicious in pies or cakes or cream ; and the checkerberries 
tasted like tooth-powder — only better. 

I thought of these things when I first came to New 
London, and besides, it was only a few miles from there 
that my mother had lived in her girlhood. To my boyish 
mind all this was full of romance; and it was like coming 
into my own to live in the midst of so much that meant 
realization to my childish imaginings. 

This mid-region of New Hampshire has a peculiar 
charm and beauty for me. It lies, now delightfully neg- 
lected, between the more populous counties of the south ; 
spoiled in their rural grace by so many manufacturing 
atrocities, and the austere grandeur of the White Moun- 
tains. It is an enchanted land untroubled by either 
machinery or fashion. Life here is still simple, and the 
seasons come and go each with its charicteristic loveliness 
unmarred by the world's ambitions. 

It is more than a hundred and fifty years since New 
London began its existence, and when one ponders on the 
rugged strength and courage of those first settlers in con- 
quering these rude hills and planting upon them their little 
farms amid the forests, it does not seem incredible that 
dauntless character must still persist in their descendants, 
these people who still live on the farms of New Hampshire. 

The foreign invasion of the state, the thought of 
which so saddens one, has only slightly touched its rural 


life — these farmers and villagers are still American ; still 
the conquerors of the soil and the forests; still the moral 
principle in our national life. 

I remember very well my first entrance into the life of 
the Academy and how strange and even uncouth my class- 
mates at first seemed. They were for the most part girls and 
boys from the farms and villages of New England. I was 
no doubt equally an object of curiosity to them ; for I came 
among them with my ridiculous Southern dialect and the 
manners and ideas of a less sincere social condition. But 
we soon became good friends, and under the frank and 
kindly fraternalism of the school my negroid speech was 
gradually converted into English — as it is spoken in New 

Almost as soon as the classes were settled, the boys 
began the organization of their sports ;'their gymnastic 
work. On the campus, I learned the zest of battering shins 
in the battle of football ; and it was here that I broke a 
little finger in my first and last game of baseball. Not a 
robust confession surely. But there were no daily fights to 
vindicate my rights as a human being. 

What can I say of the school itself — do I need to say 
anything? It was under the patronage of the Methodist 
church — or was it the Baptist ? In the years that have 
passed all sects and all creeds have become alike to me. 
There were many religious gatherings, I remember, and 
this part of my life in New London is still quite tiresome. 
There were Sunday night 'experience meetings,' held in 
the chapel, at which emotionally excited students followed 
the lead of semi-professional 'revivers,' who began their 
harangues with tales of their sinful lives and closed with a 
plea that others in the audience similarly afflicted would be 
moved to tell the story of their salvation. 

I cannot be sentimental about this part of my experi- 
ence in New London, but keep in mind, if you condemn 
me, that even' as a young boy I had attended negro camp- 
meetings out of curiosity — and the dialect only was differ- 


ent. But otherwise, in the fine association with both 
teachers and students, there was about this simple and 
dignified institution all of that which twenty years has not 
changed my regard for — the sincerity and efficiency of its 
educational system. If I had a son — why have I no son ? 
— I would send him to Colby Academy for three excellent 
reasons: — to learn to live the Simple Life without neces- 
sarily being half-witted to do so; to learn a plain and manly 
attitude toward his fellow beings ; and to make sure that he 
could live in a northern latitude with impunity. The 
healthful moral, mental, and physical conditions that pre- 
vail not only in Colby Academy, but in the atmosphere of 
New London itself make such a school and town splendid 
forming-ground for the young manhood and womanhood of 
our state. 

I have definite recollections of two of my instructors; 
of Professor Dixon and Miss Learned. I am writing with 
no knowledge of what time has done with them. Our 
Principal was a fine scholar and a fine instructor, which 
are not always identical ; and he had a southern manner. 
The term is used advisedly, for southern manners are 
seldom what they seem to be, and his were real. He knew 
Greek better than I ever did, but he did not make me feel 
the difference, and every time I learned a conjugation he 
gave me the infantile but genuine happiness of making me 
believe I had taught him something. "You're right! 
That's correct!" he would sav surprisedly, if I was ever 
either, and the satisfaction I felt outlives this moment, and 
I who cannot now translate the first paragraph of the Ana- 
basis,except by sub-conscious memory or the use of a Bohn, 
am grateful to that good and kind man. 

Miss Learned opened the door of English Literature 
to my benighted mind, and her hand was on the latch of all 
the Latin verse I know. She was a tall thin woman with a 
lovely face, in which there was no trace of beauty, as it is 
understood in story books and Sunday newspapers ; and I 
am sure there are hundreds of her past students who think 



of her as I do, with lo\-e and reverence : love for the 
exquisite patience with which she imparted to our unformed 
minds the treasures of her own, and reverence for the wis- 
dom that could be so patient. She gave me the first praise 

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I ever enjoyed for a literary production — a little essay on 
the enjoyment of nature, or something of that sort * * * 
She thought it was fine and I agreed with her. It was 
published on the first page of the Colby "Voice" and I 
read it several times after it was printed. 


In New London the pageantry of New England 
seasons passed before me : The late autumn with its mists, 
its darkening woods, its naked trees. And then the snows, 
covering the hills with their white blankets, and bringing, 
when the skies were unclouded, nights full of stars and 
thrilling with the chill loveliness of the Aurora Borealis. 

There were many enjoyments new to me; coasting was 
one of them. Our weekly receptions were events. Satur- 
day evening, or sometimes Friday evening, Miss Smiley, 
the 'lady principal' gave a reception in the parlors of the 
Academy; and the boys and girls were allowed to be 
together for two hours — from seven to nine — think of that 
you people who begin your reception at ten and stop — O, 
much later! 

Occasionally there were dances in near-by towns, for in 
New London nothing as secular was ever allowed. To 
these I went surreptitiously. The most enjoyable affairs 
of the village which the students were permitted to attend 
were 'Church Sociables' and at these many persons from 
other towns were wont to come. 

There was a Girl in those days. She was not a student 
of the Academy, but lived in a town about a dozen miles 
away and at her home I was always a welcome guest. 
Belle — that was her name — was noted through the country 
side for her beauty and high spirits, and to her I burned 
the silent incense of my fancies. I remember a lilac 
muslin dress she wore — perhaps it was not muslin — anyway, 
she was very beautiful in that gown, and she wore lilac 
ribbons in her little shoes, and there was a fragrance of 
lilacs about her. 

On the occasion of one of these church gatherings, at 
which there was usually served a good supper, followed by 
a "grand march" and games or recitations, a companion and 
I invited Belle and another young lady to be our guests. 
Gaining Professor Dixon's permission to do so, we brought 
the young women to New London in a carriage on the 
afternoon of the event. Well, we attended the event, ate 


the supper, played the games, heard the recitations, and at 
ten o'clock our horse and carriage were ready for us. 
The afternoon drive had been delightful and we had not 
thought that the horse was slow, although all horses 
are more or less slow. But during the evening a heavy 
rain storm had come up and kept up. We had ample 
protection of robes and curtains from the wet, but the 
darkness of the night was intense and made driving a 
matter of faith in the homing instinct of the horse, which 
led him toward our destination — we had gone down on the 
morning stage and got the outfit at Belle's home. The 
instinct, it proved, was a true one but it brought us several 
accidents, fortunately none of them serious. 

For the first few miles everything went well in spite 
of the obscurity of the road. Then we suddenly tipped 
over. We had run against a bank at the side of the road : 
luckily no one was hurt and the carriage was soon righted. 
We proceeded. A little farther on our horse stopped short 
at the door of a large farm house. Again we got into the 
road. A mile more we were at a stand-still at someone's 
stone hitching post. A few minutes afterward we were 
ditched and almost overturned near a spreading tree from 
a branch of which hung a swing. There was a light in a 
house that stood near and I borrowed a lantern from the 
kindly farmer. Its gleam hardly penetrated the darkness, 
but it helped some. And then on to the end that horse 
stopped at every house. It was unaccountable. 

The next day I asked the liveryman why so strange an 
experience should be ours with ahorse that in the afternoon 
had seemed so docile. 

And this was what he said : 

"Well, that's a good hoss you had for straight goin' ef 
you can see your way, but comin' on rain like it did last 
night and you not bein' able to keep him to his knittin' 
that hoss just done his regular work, which is deliverin' 
milk at them houses where you stopped." 


I am reasonable and' I thought the explanation was, 

It is twenty years since then, and sweet Belle, alas, has 
these fifteen years lain in the little cemetery near her home, 
a sorrow for all who ever knew her radiant face. The 
memory of her is still a dear possession, and I who, for 
very bashfulness, never, as Verlaine says, "dared to kiss her 
little ringer's littlest joint," waft a kiss to her across the 

C&e 4£>rigm of tfje Brtmtus 

An Indian Legend 
By Frederic Allison Tupper 

Many, many moons have faded, 
Many, many moons have vanished, 
Since an old man in his wigwam 
Dwelt beside a frozen river, 
Dwelt alone beside the river, 
In a forest black and lonely. 
Long and white his beard and locks were, 
Choicest furs his heavy garments, 
For the world was one long winter — 
Snow and ice o'er all the landscape. 
Winds went wildly through the forest, 
Searching all the treea and bushes, 
Searching for the birds to chill them, 
Over hill and over valley, 
Chasing evil sprites before them. 
And the old man through the forest, 
Through the snow-drifts deep and chilling, 
Sought for wood to feed the fire 
Dying in his lonely wigwam. 
Homeward in despair he staggered, 
Sat beside the dying embers, 

" : 'J 


Cried aloud in voice of terror : 
"Mannaboosho, Mannaboosho, 
"Save me, ere of cold I perish." 
And the wild wind's breath of coldness 
Blew aside the lodge door rudely, 
And a maiden, winsome, lovely, 
Entered from the gusty darkness. 
Red her cheeks like sweet wild roses 
Burning by the dusky forest; 
Large her eyes, with lustre glowing 
Like a fawn's eyes in the darkness ; 
Long her hair and black as raven, 
Black as Kah-gah-gee, the raven, 
And it swept the ground she walked on. 
In her hands were buds of willow, 
On her head a wreath of wild-flowers, 
Ferns and grasses were her clothing. 
And her moccasins were lilies, 
Lilies white that love the meadows ; 
When she breathed, the air around her. 
All the air within the wigwam, 
Passed from winter into summer. 
And the old man said : "My daughter, 
"I am very glad to see you ; 
"Cold my lodge, indeed, and cheerless, 
"But it shields you from the tempest. 
"Tell me who you are, my daughter, 
"How you dare to brave the tempest, 
"In the clothing of the summer? 
"Sit you here, and tell your country, 
"Name your victories in order, 
• "Then my great deeds I will tell you, 
"I am Manito the Mighty." 
Filled he then two pipes for smoking, 
Filled he pipes with the tobacco, 
So that they might smoke while talking. 
When the smoke in curling eddies 
Warmed the old man's breath; he uttered 
Words of boasting, words of glory. 
"I am Manito," he boasted, 
"When I blow my breath, a stillness 
"Falls upon the flowing waters." 
And the maiden said in answer: 
"Lo, I breathe, and all the landscape 


"Blossoms with a thousand flowers." 

And the old man said in answer: 
"When I shake my long locks hoar}-, 
"All the ground with snow is covered." 
"I but shake my curls," she answered, 
"And the warm rains fall from heaven." 
"When I walk," the old man answered, 
"From the trees the leaves come falling; 
"Creatures wild in terror flee me, 
"Hiding each in winter fastness ; 
''Wild birds leave the lake and river, 
"Fly away to distant contries." 
"When I walk," the maiden answered, 
"Plants lift up their heads in beauty, 
"Many leaves come on the branches, 
"Birds come back from distant countries, 
"Singing with delight to see me — 
"All the world is full of music." 

Thus they talked in emulation 

Till the air within the wigwam 

Warmer grew and ever warmer, 

And the old man's head kept nodding 

Till it lay upon his bosom, 

Lay upon his breast in slumber. 

Then the sun came back in splendor, 

And the bluebird, the Owaissa, 

On the wigwam's top alighting, 

Called aloud with joyous singing; 
"Say-ee, say-ee, I am thirsty !" 

And the river cried in answer : 
"I am free, come here and drink me ?" 
' As the old man slept, the maiden 

Passed her small, white hand above him; 

Small he grew and ever smaller, 

From his mouth came streams of water; 

Small he grew and ever smaller 

Till his form had almost vanished. 

And his clothing turned to green leaves. 

Then the maiden, lowly kneeling 

On the ground before the green leaves, 

From her bosom pure and lovely 

Took white flowers most fair and precious, 

Hid them there among the green leaves. 

Then she breathed upon the blossoms, 


Breathed upon the blossoms saying: 
"All my virtues give I to you, 
"All my sweetest breath I give you ; 

"All who pick you must be lowly, ' 

"All on bended knees must pick you." 

Through the woods and o'er the prairies 

Passed away the lovely maiden; 

All the birds sang love songs to her, 

And where'er her footstep lingered, 

Grows to-day the sweet-breathed May-flower. 

<QV$t Weaker g>tx 

By Nixon Waterman 

•The weaker sex," they call them, but a mortal couldn't make, 
In speaking of womenfolks a more profound mistake. 
Those precious parcels made of smiles, of ribbons, tears and lace, 
Have clearly proved themselves to be the "Samsons" of -the race. 

Do you suppose that any MAN could keep me half the night 
In some beshadowed hammock where mosquitoes fiercely bite, 
And who, it mattered not how long he might prefer to stay, 
Could press my hand so lightly I could never get away ? 

And where's the giant with the strength to make me walk and walk 
About the park and babble forth the softest kind of talk, 
And buy ice cream and lemonade and popcorn bars and such 
And then declare I had enjoyed the evening very much ? 

I know a tender "clinging vine" who, by her winsome smiles, 
Has made me, lazy as I am, walk several hundred miles. 
I've stood outdoors on winter nights and waited for her when 
I'd not have waited half so long for fifteen dozen men. 

The women are the ones who rule this planet first and last; 
They bind us in their mystic chains and hold us good and fast. 
But, though we men are shackled slaves, we mutually agree 
We'll never do a single thing to make them set us free. 

Cf)e <£nb of tfce Woxia 

By Winsor Brownell 

¥^E WAS a man of large frame, well-stocked limbs, 
1 -^J a broad, unshaven cheek and massive chin, who in 
C his better days, when he had no doubt aspired to 
the true dignity of manhood, been passably good looking 
even if the evidence of this now could not be called more 
than circumstantial. His name was the homely but expres- 
sive one of Peter Hanaford, and for several years he had 
lived quietly at the town's expense. 

Whenever asked by any one more inquisitive than 
polite the explanation for such an able-bodied man as he to 
depend upon public support for his living, he invariably 
told the following story, and with such little variation as to 
show that he was either telling the truth or that he had 
"learned his lesson well." Like the philosopher pondering 
upon some mooted problem, Mr. Hanaford always pre- 
ceded his simple tale with a period of silence, during which 
it would appear as if his mind was busy with memories of 
distant, if not happier, days. Upon this occasion the sun 
had sunk behind the rim of hills in the west, so that it was 
beginning to grow dark in the valleys, though the rugged 
forehead of a solitary mountain peak was illuminated with 
a golden halo it had not known at noonday. Something of 
the fleeting glory of the nobler height was borrowed by the 
foothills in which to array themselves in bright robes for 
the swift -coming autumn twilight. A border of red maples, 
touched with the magical brush of the season's artist, made 
a fantastic frame for a clear sheet of water dropped in the 
distance like a crystal from the creator's spear. 

"Sich fools as men be," finally remarked Mr. Hana- 
ford, his tongue having at last found expression to his 



thoughts. "Seein' it's town talk I don't know as I need to 
argue erbout lettin' it go to ye. I wus tolerably well fixed 
in 'em days. Not that I wus as rich as Squire Newton, 
but if I weren't I didn't hev so many judges lyin' in wait 
for me. Hannah an' I owned our little farm all free an' 
clear, an' we had a snug little pocket laid by for a storm. 
Th' storm come in a way we weren't lookin' for. 

"It was in th' forties, when a long-haired, slick-lookin', 
religious scout come into town to start a revival. He was 
a slick talker, an he said as how th' people hadn't much 
time in which to get ready, as he had done some close 
figurin' on th' 'count the Lord had been keepin' with his 
followers, an' the time when he was to balance his sheet 
nigh by, an' that we should be called upon suddintly to 
render our return for the use of our talents. 

"Not bein' a very well read man, I didn't stop to take 
much heed to what he was sayin', thinkin' my divvy 
wouldn't be very large anyway, an' as long as Squire New- 
ton could hold his head up without stoppin' to cast th' 
figures I guessed I could. I might have kept right on 
thinkin' that way, an' spendin' my time lookin' arter my 
growin' craps, if Bill Berry hadn't come over onearternoon. 
Seein' me scrubbin' away at some bushes which had been 
a sore eye to me for a long time Bill says: 

"'Wot in creation, Pete, air ye grubbin' in that shape 

" 'I calculate it is time to cut these air bushes, Bill,' I 
said, innercent like;. 'an' seein' th' moon is in th' dark, 
which is the right sitooation to kill sprouts, I thought I 
would take th' day for that puppose.' 

" 'Moon be quartered an' hanged !' he said, who weren't 
th' most perticular about his langwidge. 'Guess ye ain't 
been down to hear th' new parson figger out th' Lord's 
'count with yen' 

"I says no, when he expounded, as only Bill could, on 
what th' parson had found out. He went on to say that 
the word o' th' Lord was plain in sayin' that th' hull matter 


o* runnin the world had become purty heavy bizness for him 
to handle, that his people were ongrateful, an' that he had 
concluded to settle up th' hull affair, balance th' sheets an' 
burn th' books. In other words, th' world was to come to 
an end erlong in August. He, th' parson, had got it down 
so fine that he had fixed th' day an' hour. 

"I knowed Bill of old, so I didn't take any stock in 
what he said, but kept on grubbin' th' bushes, cuttin' 'em 
lower 'n afore jess to show Bill I didn't believe a word he 
had said. He went away shakin' his shaggy head, an' 
sayin' something erbout blasphemin' th' word of God. 
Well, I finished th' business, an' havin' full confidence in 
th' moon, I didn't lose any sleep that night. Th' next day, 
long erbout noon, Sile Stout come erlong with erbout the 
same story that Bill had told. But I sent him drowslin' 
down th' road quicker 'n I had Bill. I slept like a top that 
night. Th' next day over come Jim Greggs for a short 
chat, an' he introduced th' same subject, expoundin' it 
louder an' stronger 'n Bill an' Sile had, an' had wuss work 
to get rid of him. That night I had one short dream, in 
which I thought I ketched a glimpse of th' Lord or some 
one in white down by th' parster bars. 

"Wull, may I be hoss-kicked if ol' Deacon Jones didn't 
drop into my kitchen th' next evenin', an' he talked solemn 
an* 'arnest erbout the sitooation so that I'll be blamed if I 
didn't lay erwake an hour that night thinkin' it over. 
When a man gits to thinkin' he's lost — a-goner! I don't 
keer what th' marter is so long as he keeps from thinkin' 
on't he's all right. Soon's he does he's er pickled beet. 
An' I got to seein' th' reason'bleness of th' plan. Others 
got to comin' reg'lar, one every day, till I got so's to set on 
th' parster bars an' look for 'em ! Bimeby Bill come ergin, 
an' this time he brung er handful of green oats in th' straw 
with him. Says he, 'hev ye noticed enything pecooliar 
erbout th' oats this year?' I had been cal'latin' how soon 
my crap would do to harvest, an' it 'd likely thrash out, an' 
I says, 'Don't know 's I hev, 'cept th' straw seems purty 





stout fer th' length of th' head.' Then Bill pulled out a 
stalk an', shakin' it, smoothed out th' blade an', holdin' it so 
th' sun shinedon it, said, 'I reckon ye ain't fergot th' letters 
old "Screw-Auger Kno\vlton"pounded inter yer thick head,' 
he said with a grin. I looked, an' ye could heve shot me 
over with that stalk of oat if there weren't printed on't as 
plain as ever I see it in my old speller a big B ! I looked 
at Bill an' Bill looked at me. He wus solemn, an' I, wull, 
mebbe I wus cur'us. 

"'One of yer jokes, Bill,' I says. 'I've known ye 
sence ye were knee high to er toad. Ye printed thet letter 
on there.' 

"'Pull a stalk of yer own oats an' see,' he said. 

"I pulled an' looked. Mebbe my knees shook er leetle, 
fer there wus ernother B like th' fust, plainer if enything. 
Bill looked solemner, an' he an' I went to pullin' oats an' 
lookin' at 'em. Every blamed oat had a B on it! 

"« Whut d'ye make out'n it?' I asked bimeby, ready to 
fergit thet Bill wus an uncommon liar. 

"'Make on't ?' asked he. 'It's simple as bitin' an apple- 
B stends fer burn, don't it ? An' burn at this time means, 
or the parson 's crazy, thet th' world is goin' to burn up 
next month !' My hair sort of riz right up, so I nacherally 
put up my hand to save my hat. 'Looks kinder different, 
don't it ?' says Bill, an' without stoppin' to say more he 
went erway. 

. "I didn't sleep er wink thet night, on 'count of thinkin' 
of 'em oats. Thinkin' of 'em set me thinkin' of ernother 
marter which had gin me more or less worry fer a year or 
more. Peleg Thompson had been tryin' to buy my farm fer 
thet long, er longer, but I had never gin him eny real incour- 
agement, though Hannah had said I oughter. I knowed 
she wus all-fired anxious to °;it out'n town so she could be 
nearer her sister who lived in er city. Peleg wus a tough 
customer to deal with, an' he openly boasted he had never 
been worsted in er trade in his life. An' I had a grudge 
ag'in him for cheatin' me out'n a bull calf when I wus 


younger. But I didn't let on to Hannah I had eny idee of 
softenin' toward Peleg. I didn't neither. 

"Th' next day sumthin' more happened to set me 
thinkin' wusser 'n ever. Josh Gable called me over to his 
house to look at some aigs he had jess picked out from 
under his brown turkey, th' turkey thet had took a prize 
over to Coldbrook th' year afore. What struck him as 
pecooliar struck me as sumthin' wuss. I needn't gin ye 
eny onnecessary wait to get down' to th' facts, but writ on 
thet air aig as plain as Master Hoyt us't set our copies fer 
us were these words, which I hev remembered all these 
years : 

" 'Sinners, git ready fer repentance, as th' day of 
Judgment is at hand. I shall cancel my 'counts with ye 
an' demand cash payment fer all debts August, Thursday 
th' 24th, at four in th' mornin'!' 

"Here was purty stiff evidence, an' if I had weakened 
afore I let out ernother peg now. Finelly Josh an' I got 
to wonderin' whether this was an especial favor shown to 
him, er wus it given to others ? To settle the marter he 
an' I walked down to my house to see if my critters had 
gin eny sich warnin'. As I didn't keep turkeys, th' tarnal 
foxes had bothered me so, we nacherally looked in the hin's 
nest. But we didn't fin' er sign till I happened to think of 
Hannah's big goose she had bought that spring. I looked 
there, an' I tell ye my heart thrashed like a thrashin' 
machine, when I see there th' same message thet wus on 
Josh's aig. Then Josh an' me sot down an' cried. 

"We decided thet no good would come of our tellin' 
whut we'd diskivered, as it would make folks more fidgety. 
Leastways thet wus my argument, while I wus thinkin' of 
Peleg Thompson, an calculatin' on my chances of sellin' 
him my farm afore he got onto th' sitooation. Don't ye see 
if I could git eny price from him I'd be gettin' th* better of 
him under the conditions. An' to beat er Thompson would 
be glory ernough to send me whizzin' inter kingdom come 
with my umbreller wide spread! 


"I can tell ye I didn't lose eny time in startin' to see 
Peleg. On my way through th' village, seein' er crowd 
erbout th' meetin' house, I went in jess to see if Peleg wus 
there. He weren't, but I found th' parson tellin' how th' 
time wus fixed, an' he showed it up so plain I fairly lost my 
breath when I figgered what I should lose if Peleg should 
get wind of this afore I had clinched thet bargain. I got 
to thinkin' on't so hard thet I didn't stop to hear th' amen 
part of th' parson's talk, but I slipped out ertween some 
sarmonizin' an' some singin'. 

"I found Peleg saltin' his cattle, as unconsarned as if 
there wus plenty of time provided an' no scare at th' end. 
I knowed he wus orful cautious in his trades. Wouldn't 
trade on Friday arter ten o'clock. Wouldn't take pay on 
er trade arter duskish out of doors. Wouldn't buy th' fust 
red ox he'd seen arter seein' a white un, an' sich notions. 
I knowed he hadn't fergot thet bull calf nuther, an' he'd be 
uncommon skittish with me. But arter three mortal hours 
spent in talkin' craps, the stock, th' season, an' sich handy 
make-shifts, I got round to thet farm of mine. 'Lowin' 
thet Hannah had got a hand in 't an' thet she wus set on 
goin' to th' city, I got him to make an offer. 'Twus fer a 
thousand dollars, an' so much better 'n I had expected, 
takin' inter consideration th' onsartinty of marters, I 
ketched onto his offer in sich er way he looked flustered, 
an' I thought he wus goin' to flounder. But he hild to th' 
hook, an' I made it cash down, an no way out'n it. 
He stuck like er bit er mud in spring time. I didn't 
let him git out'n my sight fer fear he'd hear erbout th' 
comin' crisis which wus likely to bring er collapse in real 
estate, till th' papers were made out an' th' money in my 
hands. Then I says, primin' myself fer a good larf : 

"'Hev ye heerd how th' Lord is erbout to close his 
contract of runnin' th' 'arth, an thet the hull consarn is 
likely to go to th' bow-wows next month, seein' there ain't 
nobuddy else capable of runnin it ?' 

" <Naw!' he said, kinder touchy. Th' only contract I 


want to see closed is thet ye move out'n my house this 

"Whut he said kinder riled me, but I held my onruly 
tongue thinkin' how I'd hev th' last larf, an' er wonderin' 
how he'd feel with Gabriel tootin' his trumpet an' thet farm 
on his hands. 

"Wull, th* most s'prised pusson, an' likewise th' most 
pleased, wus Hannah when I told her I'd sold th' farm. It 
did me good to see her dance fer joy, an' I swow it wus 
wuth a hundred dollars o' thet money I'd got fer it to hev 
her hoi' me in her arms like she us't'r in coortin' days. I 
promised her we should move to th' city right off, an' thet 
she should hev half o' thet money afore I knowed it, as 
will in' as I wus. Fer ye see with Gabriel er tunin' his horn 
fer th' call to the big muster, I didn't look on it as a big 
sacrifice. I reckoned th' rest would last me a month, even 
if I did give up wuk, as I had planned to sort of fix over 
my books fer th' last balance. Perhaps this don't interest 
yeou, stranger?" said the narrator, stopping suddenly in the 
midst of his story. Upon being assured of this he con- 

"We moved inter town, an' th' way Hannah made thet 
money fiy 'd hev sent me inter th' loonertic assortment if I 
hadn't been posted so wull on th' futur*. She got th' hull 
neighborhood inter er riot, an' come to me fer more money 
inside of two weeks. She claimed er Jew peddler had 
robbed her of a goodish bit of it. I laid in a good supply 
of sich stimulants as go to lighten one's cares, went inter 
retirement, an' told her to help herself to th' pocketbook. 
I didn't feel like spoilin' her good time, with her in igner- 
ence of whut wus com in' in a few days. 

"As th' time drove nigh I felt er longin' to see th' ol' 
place where I'd spent th' better part of my life, an' I 
thought how slick it 'd be to ascend unto 'Lijah an' th' 
bretheren from the place of my nativity. So I said 'good- 
bye' to Hannah, tellin' her to be of good cheer, an' 
expressin' er hope thet we should meet ag'in. Ye see I 


didn't hev the moral courage to tell her th' truth. 

"'Meet erg'in?' says she, 'of coorse we air goin' to 
meet ag'in. Ye ain't er sot on dyin' yet, er man of yer aig 
an' buddy, be ye ? By day arter to-morrer I shall hev my 
new bunnit, an' ye must be to home to see me wear it fer 
th' fust time. Sakes alive! won't Mandy die of green 

Here Mr. Hanaford would pause in his narrative 
without an inquiry as to whether he should continue, while 
he would show plainly that a heavy load lay on his mind. 
Finally he would resume: 

"For some reason which I never really understood th' 
Lord concluded not to wind up his arthly 'count jess then. 
Sometimes I wish purty hard he had. When I got back to 
town th' fust thing Hannah did wus to ax me fer more 
money, an' when I told her it wus all gone she sort of 
wilted. I pitied her more'n myself. In th' end we came 
back to our uative town to begin all over ag'in. But it wus 
purty hard pullin' fer sich old hosses. Squire Newton 
lent us a hand, an' somehow we scratched erlong till Han- 
nah left me with a smile, to go where wukkers find rest an' 
fools get their wisdom." 

By Carroll Raymond 

There is beauty in the budding rose, 
In the azure that the summer brings, 

In the river when it softiy flows, 

In the sweep of the soaring eagle's wings, 

There is beauty in the dawning light, 
In the silver of the sunset west ; 

But there's naught so wonderfully bright 
As the smile of those whom we love best. 

A Plain Tale of Plain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By George Waldo Browne 

[Copyright, 1906, by the Author] 
What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue ! — Burke. 

"Please do be calm, Deacon. You are all broken up, 
you can't talk so one can understand half you say. Here 
they come into the dooryard now with Squire Newbegin's 
horse and carriage. Surely if Squire Newbegin can 

"Don't mention th' name of thet unregenerate man. 
You don't know what deviltry — I'm goin' to use jess sich 
words, fer there hain't any in th' Lord's Book thet'll 
express their pure cussedness. To think they should sleep 
here under my roof, a-gittin' — fer nothin' — the droppin's of 
my table, a-listenin' to my savin word, while they were all 
th' time plannin' an' workin' to steal my home from me 

"I do not understand what you say, Timothy. They 
seem like gentlemen. I have thought of Dick so many 
times since they have come, and do you know one of 
them seems to have so many of Dick's ways. I have 
watched him while they have been sitting at the table, and 
for my life I could not help thinking of — " 

"Thet miserable scapegoat all the time," he finished. 
"I s'pose you air willin' to connive with 'em, an' let 'em 
steal my home — your home — away from me. It is fortu- 
nate I've not let this matter run any longer'n et has. Th' 



minnit they step a foot 'crost thet threshold I'm goin' to 
set 'em a-goin', pay or no pay for what I've done fer 'em. 
An' I'll cane 'em to boot! I don't know but I'll cane 'em 
fust ! Anyway I'll use this stick about 'em afore I'm done, 
ef I don't get a cent fer all I've done fer 'em. So don't 
you interfere with your woman's weakness, but let me settle 
with 'em at my riggers." 

She could see that he was greatly excited, and it 
seemed as if a tragedy was about to be enacted in spite of 
her efforts to prevent it. Before she could interpose with 
an admonition to do nothing he might afterwards regret, 
the two were heard entering the house. Pushing his wife 
aside somewhat rudely, the aroused deacon took a step 
backward and, lifting the stick he held in his clenched grasp 
over his head, waited for the others to come into the room, 
his thin countenance becoming rigid and determined in its 
expression, as if nothing could thwart him from his purpose. 
Mrs. Goodwill, her hands under her apron, stood a little 
apart, trembling for the outcome of the meeting. 

"Please do not forget yourself, Timothy, and say that 
for which you will be sorry by and by." 

He looked at her sternly, but before he could speak, 
the door opened and the two men entered with the utmost 
unconcern. Free Newbegin was quick to note the indica- 
tions of the storm that had risen, and had Deacon Goodwill 
or his wife been less excited and fixed in their observations, 
they, might have detected a movement of the heavy, droop- 
ing mustache that marked the existence of a smile playing 
upon the lips underneath. He lost no time in saying, in his 
free and easy speech : 

"I wish to congratulate you, Deacon, upon having the 
best walking horse in town. That horse of the squire's — " 

"Sir!" interrupted Deacon Goodwill, straightening his 
slim figure up until his head fairly touched the smoky ceil- 
ing, while he clutched his knotted cane with a firmer hold, 
"pick up your dum duds and with 'em be off! Es ef 
'tweren't enough for me to to vittle and house you without 


you stealin' my home away from me an* my desolated 

The other listened politely until he had finished, and 
while Mrs. Goodwill was moving her hands spasmodically 
under her apron, he said in a tone that fell like oil on 
troubled waters : 

"As I was remarking to my friend, Deacon, I am more 
than ever impressed with the good qualities of old Bet. 
She is worth all I promised to pay for her. I am inclined 
to think there is a strain of the blood of the famous horses 
of Persia in her veins. Of course it is faint now, but good 
blood, you know, will tell when it has been strained thin, 
very thin." 

"Sir!" broke in the angry householder, but somehow 
he allowed the fluent speaker to resume before he could get 
beyond the single utterance. 

"Speaking of that far-away country reminds me, as I 
was saying to Robert, that your landscape here bears a 
wonderful resemblance to the sacred vales, hillsides and 
plains of the Holy Land. Of course we miss the cedars 
of Lebanon, the dreamy atmosphere, and that undefinable 
something which gives to the Land of the Saviour that 
peculiar odor to be found nowhere else. But the contour 
of the landscape, something about the soft atmosphere, 
makes it wonderfully like the other. No sooner had my 
friend and I passed over the ridge dividing it from the 
adjoining town than I remarked this singular and beautiful 
likeness to my companion. I remember I said: 'Robert, 
how much this is like the scenes where we spent so many 
happy days following the footsteps of our Master in the 
land of the prophets and patri — '" 

"Sirrahs!" thundered the deacon, determined not to 
be put off any longer, though his very next utterance 
showed a descending inflection, "begone, and let your 
bodies profane no longer my house." 

"Yes, yes, my good Deacon, I understand. We are 
after my little trunk now, and to bid you and your kind 


helpmeet an affectionate good-by. I cannot realize that our 
stay has been so brief, when I find how hard the parting 
becomes. You will forgive me if I say we feel very much 
like the strangers who came to Father Abraham, as he sat 
in the door of his tent, seeking food and drink and a night's 
shelter. How plainly the Good Book pictures that touch- 
ing scene, and as I stood once where I felt certain the 
great and good prophet stood as he peered out over the 
plain, waiting for the new-comers, I tried as best I could to 
feel as he felt while he humbly and generously offered the 
best at his command. Even as Abraham did unto the wan- 
derers of old, so did you unto us, Deacon Goodwill, without 
expectation of reward. 

"My one great regret now that we must part is that we 
are not able to reward you even as those travelers of old 
rewarded Abraham. But we leave our blessing with you, 
and the wish that you and your beautiful family may live 
long and be prosperous." 

"Mebbe I spoke a leetle hasty," said the mollified dea- 
con, who had really a kind heart. "Rheumatiz is apt to 
make me a leetle techy. Mebby if Mirandy has a leetle 
cooked for supper you might stay until mornin'. And, say, 
mebbe this evenin' you'll explain some of 'em p'ints about 
Palestine that hev been pesterin' me. Havin' been there 
you seem to know all about it." 

Mrs. Goodwill immediately resumed her preparations 
for supper, with a feeling of relief that there was not likely 
to be any serious outcome of the affair. Free Newbegin 
at once began a long dissertation on the Holy Land, which 
he had really visited, and so glibly did he enter into his 
descriptions that his listener fairly held his breath, asking 
now and then a question, which only served to lead the 
other on. All the anger had now faded from the deacon's 
mind, and he forgot that the vivid speaker beside him was 
the dreaded town claimant, whose name by this time was 
on every tongue in town, biting like the sting of a bee. 
He had always felt an uncommon interest in this subject, and 


longed to talk with some one who had actually stood amid 
the sacred scenes of old. As has been said, this man's 
descriptive powers were equal to bringing out each picture 
like a living view. So absorbed did his eager listener 
become that he missed the first two calls to supper from his 
gentle wife, saying at the third time: 

"Yes, yes, mother ; but do not let such an everyday 
matter as eatin' profane sich a lesson as this. Why, it is 
like goin' there ! Your feet, Mr. Bidwell, hev actually 
stood in the tracks of the Saviour ?" 

"They have, my good Deacon. I have followed foot 
by foot the very path he trod when he ascended the 
Mount of Olives, and as near as man may know I have 
knelt where he knelt on that beautiful morning that he 
made his appeal unto the Father, the dew touching the 
the veriest bush with honey drops and all nature in har- 
mony with the grand offering of that occasion. Ay, Dea- 
con, no man can say he has truly lived up to the require- 
ments of his duty until he has seen with his own eyes those 
sacred places portrayed by the Good Book so simply and 
yet grandly. Were all the rest of my life blotted out 
'twere enough for me to have lived those few months I 
passed in the Holy Land." 

"That's so, that's so," murmured his listener, oblivious 
of all else. "Et's wonderful — wonderful ! How I begrudge 
you your great happiness." 

"Come, Timothy, come !" exclaimed Mrs. Goodwill, 
who had also been drinking in every word of the glowing 
descriptions. "Mr. Hungerford will eat the table clean." 

Leonard Quiver, who had not spoken for half an hour, 
had been watching with curious interest alternately the 
speaker and his listeners and the diligent movements of 
Mr. Hungerford, whose appetite had evidently been 
stronger than his interest in the discussion in which he was 
not expected to take part. At any rate he had kept 
steadily at his work for three-fourths of an hour without 
hindrance, and the result was now announced by the boyish 


voice of little Enoch, who had just returned from the 
village , 

"Look, mother! old Hungerford has cleaned the 
table !" 

For once the kind mother forgot to correct her son, as 
she surveyed with dismay the havoc that had been wrought 
by the industrious boarder, and she exclaimed: 

"For the good Lord's sake, Peter Hungerford, what 
have you been doing : 

"Eatin', mum, jess plain eatin'," replied the imper- 
turbable pauper, moving back his chair from the desolated 
table and beginning to pick his teeth with a fork. 

"I should say you had," she said in despair. "As I 
live, I put enough on that table for all of us, with a good 
start for breakfast. It was all of the bread I had, and I 
shall have to cook some more for the rest of us, which I 
can't do as you forgot to get that flour, Timothy." 

"That man '11 eat us out of house an' home," declared 
Deacon Goodwill, "I never see th' beat on him, an' th' 
town haint willin' to pay but two dollars an' a half a week. 
He'll send me to th' county farm." 

"I don't know what I shall do, Timothy," said Mrs. 
Goodwill, who was showing genuine anxiety. "I used the 
last of my flour in making that loaf, the remainder of which 
was on the table. Then I am out of molasses and spices, 
al) of which you forgot to get to-day. I don't know what 
I shall do." 

"Get some mush and milk, Mirandy. Good enough 
fer me, an' what is good enough fer me must do fer my 

The guests quickly declaring that nothing would suit 
them better, she began preparations for their supper on 
this plain fare, which presented such a contrast when com- 
pared to that just eaten by the town pauper. While his 
wife was doing this work Deacon Goodwill reverted to the 
subject which afforded him so much interest, and so the 
subject was resumed. 


Supper finally eaten, and secure in the privacy of their 
room, Newbegin said : 

"Now that ordeal is safely over, and the deacon is not 
half as bad at heart as his love for money would make him, 
we have only to concentrate our energies on this matter of 
a settlement with the town." 

"As I have said before, I am agreed to anything you 
have to offer. To be perfectly frank, do you think there is 
a ghost of a chance of winning?" 

"Leonard Scruple, I want you to cast all quivers aside. 
It is the almighty dollar we are after, and Deacon Goodwill 
as much as we poor tramps. But let that alone, from a 
point of fact our claim is just and valid. If it were not for 
that cunning Squire Newbegin we should walk to our throne 
dry-shod. He is the worst man to fight in the county, and 
just how we shall outwit him is at present beyond my com- 
prehension. But he shall find me as good a Greek as he is 
a Roman, and if I don't win I will walk out of this town on 
my head. Remember these words, old man. Now for my 
plans. Monday morning I shall take an early start for 
Beetle Hill, to see that mouthy sheriff. Before night he 
will serve writs of entries on the town clerk and at least 
one of the select men. Which one shall it be ? I have it ! 
Captain Eb is chairman, and Captain Eb it shall be ! The 
fright will fairly lift him out of his boots. He will hasten 
to call a town meeting ; the town will vote to leave the 
selectmen to decide what is best to do. The squire, being 
one of the board, will not object. Possibly they will hold 
a meeting, allowing us to appear before them. In fact, it 
will be best for us to have them, so I shall work it to influ- 
ence them to do so. In case they do, we must play our 
strongest card. Not exactly our trump, but one that shall 
send a shiver over the town. We will look after all that." 

"Which, most fortunately, leaves nothing for me 
to do." 

"That is where you are mistaken. I want you to 
mingle freely with the people, and keep me posted as to 


what is going on and what you hear. Especially pump 
that old wisehead, the squire's second, Life Story. In this 
way we shall be at all times prepared for any move they 
may undertake. Now for a night's good sleep. I'll wager 
my crown we shall sleep better than the old deacon, who is 
still figuring just where the path to Gethsemane leads. I 
never laid down to sleep with as free a mind in my life." 

The following Monday morning Freeland Newbegin, on 
foot, followed one of the back roads over the hills to Beetle 
Ridge, in order to find a sheriff who would serve the writ 
against the town. He found Mr. Jenness willing to begin 
his part in the work, and that very afternoon he drove 
down to Sunset to serve the papers on the town clerk, 
whose name was William Commons. This person, a small, 
nervous man, stood speechless while the officer read the 
somewhat lengthy document, putting forth the claim of 
the holder of the note. Seeing that his listener remained 
silent and at a loss to understand its meaning, the sheriff 
said : 

"Let me read it again, when you will see it as plain 
as the wart on your nose. Looks as if the town would 
have to fork over about all it is worth, eh ? 'Twon't take 
me long to read it, an' it'll sort of get me into practice for 
Cap'n Eb, as I have got one just like this for him." 

As soon as Mr. Jenness had reached the last word for 
the second time, he pushed his hat down over his head and 
started toward the home of the chairman of the selectman, 
while Mr. Commons started post-haste to find Squire New- 
begin. In this he was fortunate, as the squire was at his 
store. Life Story being the only one present, Mr. Com- 
mons broached the -matter uppermost in his mind without 
taking the precaution to call the selectman one side. To 
his surprise the latter listened to his rather excited explana- 
tion without showing any alarm. 

"What are you going to do about it, Squire " 

"Do ? Why let them look after the doing." 

"But isn't their claim good?" 



"If it is they must prove it." 

So Mr. Commons sought others for consolation, and it 
is safe to say that within two hours the whole town was 
talking about this new move on the part of the new-comers, 
and that the only person who showed no excitement was 
the squire. 

{Begun in the July, 1906, number; to be continued ) 


By Miss Edith L. Niles 

Broken the bark and lost the paddle ! 

No more the Red Man's fragile craft 
Cleaves the bright waves of the mighty river, 

Lit by the sun god's sparkling shaft. 

Broken the bow and lost the arrow! 

Done is the Red Man's stealthy chase, 
When over plain and tangled woodland 

Beast and savage held fleet race. 

Broken the camp, and lost the worn trail 

On the Red Man's old domain ; 
Gone his wildness, power, freedom, 

Gone to ne'er return again. 

Broken the heart and lost the spirit 
Of the Red Man; cowed and tame 

In storiesowild and mystic legend, 
Proudly he vaunts his ancient fame. 

Cfje editor's TOnboto 

$}Qtz$ anb (Queries; 

We are apt to think from the descriptions handed down 
to us that our forefathers were austere and devoid of the 
sentiment of humor or jollity. Still social gatherings 
were not infrequent and at house raisings and harvest time 
innocent pleasure held high carnival. The holidays as we 
know them, with Christmas as the heart of the season, 
were unknown to them, but the festival of the May Day 
was an event enjoyed by the younger people and not 
rejected by the older members of the family. And so, 
if in a manner different from our enjoyments, theirs was 
not an altogether unhappy life. 


8. The title of &Ar. was a term of courtesy bestowed 
first upon well-bred people. The term "gentleman" was sel- 
dom used, as was that of "lady." In the Seventeenth Century 
a distinction was made in social life, and the common folks 
were designated by a term that was considered to be in 
keeping with their position. Thus with them the OAr. 
became Goodman. 

Sometimes the first was taken away from a person by 
the courts on account of some misdemeanor. It is related 
that one of the early settlers stole some corn that belonged 
to an Indian, and as a punishment he was sentenced to lose 
his title of Mr. and thereafter to be known by his plain 
name unadorned by any title of respect. C. 


i , Ir'^.M^sr- J§>?Pl^^'<& Visa \V 


Granite J>tate jf©aga?ine 

Vol. III. MAY, 1907. No. 5. 

CtemtnteccnceS of t©fjittier 


By River, Lake and Sea » 

Ky J. Wakren Thyng 
Illustrations by the Author and Clinton H. Cheney 

C^f|F THE Indian lighted his way into history by the 
^J J flame of his firebrand, the same lurid torch cast his 
shadow darkly upon the legendary page ; so that 
the story of Chocorua, whether told by Drake in stolid 
prose, or gracefully written by Mrs. Child, the picture is 
dark and gloomy. Of this tragedy, that for a time spread 
the blight of superstitious fear over the little settlement of 
pioneers at the foot of the mountain that now bears the old 
Sachem's name, Whittier has said little. That the subject 
was in many ways distasteful to him I am certain. The 
larger portion of his later work is, as the reader knows, 
brightly illuminated by a strong light of cheerfulness. His 
early poem, "Mogg Megone," in later life, when he had 
triumphed over the disappointments of earlier years, he 
gladly would have taken out of his books. 

It matters little whether the revengeful rifle of Camp- 
bell, or the bullet of the white hunter closed the earthly 
pilgrimage of Chocorua on the top of the wild crag that 
now bears his name; the peak, like La Maladetta of the 
Pyrenees, became the mountain of the curse ; the valley 
desolate; where spring was verdureless, and autumn's 




harvest was but wind-drifted cinders on fire swept fields ; 
where the sedge was withered by the lake and no bird 

hW 1 ) 

Drawn for this Magazine by I. Warren THYNG 1 1 ?5F ?) 


The story was too dark and stormy for Whittier to 
contemplate. So the legend of Chocorua passed from a 
hand capable of giving it a place in permanent poetry. 

In a previous chapter the mirth-loving element in 
Whittier's nature was spoken of ; and now, as I reluctantly 
take leave of the Valley of the Bearcamp to visit other 


scenes with the poet, memory recalls a morning when the 
little coterie of friends went to see the cardinal flowers 
and harebells that grew by Chocorua brook. Whittier 
came to where I was painting, and kindly invited me to 
accompany them. Half an hour had passed, and the work 
was still unfinished, when a rosy-cheeked girl came and 

"Won't you please come over to Chocorua river now?" 

"O yes, of course." 

When we came near to where the people were, 
Whittier, who had purposely sent the little miss to bring 
me, said : 

"I knew thee would come; beauty is stronger than my 

The laugh on my account had hardly passed, when a 
young lady said there were to be tableaux in the parlor 
that evening, and one picture would represent Turks carry- 
ing off a Christian." 

"Does thee want me to take the part?" asked Mr. 

"O you can't, you are a Quaker," replied the girl, who, 
realizing what she had said, quickly added, . "O I mean we 
want a young man." 

"Thee hasn't bettered it much," said the poet; and 
then the laugh was on somebody else. 

At his suggestion I was preparing for publication a 
little portfolio of sketches of lake country scenery. 

"What will thee call thy book?" he one day' asked. 

"Why, how will Lake Country Gems do?" 

"Thee had better let others call them gems," he 
replied, with a smile I wish you could have seen. 

It was those who knew him least of all, who have 
written of this dignified but mirth-loving man as a 
"staid" Quaker. It is true, he might have given a 
stranger the impression that he was bashful ; even unso- 
ciable. I have seen him standing apart from others in 
the sitting room, by the fireplace, thoughtfully looking at 




the thin clouds of smoke as they climbed up from the 
slowly burning logs ; then, abruptly turning away, leave 
the room and walk on the piazza a few minutes, speaking 
to no one; then he would return to the fireplace, and again 
silently regard the smoke wreaths wandering in fantastic 
shapes above the flame. There had been years of bitter- 
ness and discontent in early manhood. Did those days 
return in memory? 

While he was never boastful, he held his art upon too 
high a plane to measure its worth by money alone. Not 

*H-H' - i i ! ! Sri „^' •• -^ < £ I 

a? . ^ > - 




Drawn tor this Magazine by J. Warren Thyng 


costliest magnum of Garda's yellow wine, mellowest vintage 
of old Spain, could have bought a line in its praise 

Which of his poems do I think the sweetest? "Bene- 

One fall, when he 'stayed in the hill country later than 
usual, there was a husking at Knox's farm and a humorous 
poem, that he wrote about the supposed adventures of a 
party on the mountain, was read by Miss Larcom. The 
lines, largely personal, were more amusing to friends, who 
heard them read that evening, than they now would be to 
strangers should they see the verses in print. 

Miss Larcom not only assisted Whittier in editorial 
work, but while at the Bearcamp wrote the sweet verses 
entitled "Life Everlasting," suggested by the white flower 


that grows abundantly by the river bank. 

Miss Larcom gave its present appropriate name to 
Mount Paugus. 

When quite a young man, Whittier for a short time 
worked in a little shoe shop in Chester. He asked me if I 
had seen the "Devil's Den," a rocky cavern near the shore 
of Lake Massabesic, saving that he himself had been 
there. He wrote some verses, now long since out of print, 
about the cavern. One of the verses is given below: 

"The fears of man to this place have lent 
A terror which Nature never meant. 
For who hath wandered, with curious eve, 
This dim and shadowy cavern by, 
And known, in the sun or star-light, aught 
Which might not beseem so lonely a spot." 

Some one has said he always smoked a new clay pipe. 
He never smoked at all ; if he did I never knew it. 

The painter Bradford Whittier held in high esteem, 
and to him dedicated the beautiful poem "Amy Went- 
worth." This eminent artist, a gentleman of the old 
school, and one of the most approachable of men, had a 
studio in 23d street, New York. I well remember not only 
his genial manner, but the almost luxurious appointments 
of his large, ideal studio ; everything was tidy even to 
fastidiousness. An excellent reproduction of his painting, 
"Homeward Bound," is in possession of the Varney School 
at Manchester. 

Peasants living in the mountains of North Wales will 
tell you that he who sleeps a night on Snowdon will wake 
up inspired. If dwellers in our mountains were given to 
like aphorisms the hills about Lake Asquam might claim 
two instances of the influence of environment. Here, .on 
Shepard Hill, Whittier composed one of his most graphi- 
cally beautiful poems of nature, "Storm on Lake Asquam," 
a picture wherein the pen is mightier than the pencil. 

"Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept 
Over the rough, pine-bearded Asquam range; 




A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, 
From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped." 

The view from these hills inspired Walter Peaslee's 
charming "Ode to Lake Asquam." 

"Fair Asquam, nestling in thy vale, 
Where all is peace and rest. 
Whose islands on thy bosom sleep 
As on a mother's breast! 
I dream by thee till evening shades 

Upon thy waves I see ; 
Then turn from thy beatitudes 
To leave my peace with thee." 

Drawn for this Magazine by Clinton H. Cheney 


When Whittier went to Sturtevant's, near Center Har- 
bor, he and his friends and relatives occupied nearly every 
room in the house, as they did at the Bearcamp. The 
gigantic pine on the Sturtevant farm, now called the 
"Whittier Pine," was his special admiration. I am certain 
that he regarded this as the noblest tree he knew; the out- 
look from beneath its shade is far-reaching, and when 


stirred by the breeze, from the lake below, its somber 
tones dominate all other sounds. 

"Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill 
Of time and change defiant! 
How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, 
Before the old-time giant!" 

In the next verse, gentle reader, do you fancy you can 
see the reflection of a thought apart from the lonely pine ? 
He had trodden the wine-press alone. 

"Was it the half-unconscious moan 
Of one apart and mateless, 
The weariness of unshared power. 
The loneliness of greatness." 

He spoke often of a view of the Belknap mountains, as 
seen about midway between Center Harbor and The Weirs. 
The shores of Lake Winnipesaukee are always picturesque, 
and this one especially pleased him. The mountain land- 
scape made deep impressions upon his mind, and he never 
forgot a view he once had seen and admired. The Fran- 
conia range from the Pemigewasset is undoubtedly one of 
the most completely beautiful mountain scenes in New 
Hampshire. Of this picture he wrote: 

"Once more, O mountains of the North unveil 
Your brows and lay your cloudy mantles by ! 

And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail 
Uplift against the blue walls of the sky 

Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave 
Its golden net-work in your belting woods." 

While in the West I received a letter from the little 
girl who had been so much the poet's companion in the 
north country. A portion of the letter follows : 

My Dear Papa.— We were in Danvers last week, and went to Oak 
Knoll to see Mr. Whittier. Lucy Larcom was there. She talked of 
the nice summer days when we were at the Bearcamp in the White Moun- 
tains. Then Mr. Whittier said it was a shame the house burned, for he so 
much enjoyed going there. He said it was only a few days ago that he 
was thinking of you, and wondered why you had gone so far away from 
the mountains. 



Once, when Miss Larcom was talking to me, I saw him standing a 
little back from a window be forewhich was a partly lifted curtain. 
The sun was shining in and fell on him; it made the best picture I ever 
saw of him. He is tall and straight, with black eyes and white beard. I 
thought, as I looked at him there, of a poem you taught me: 

"One man at least I know 
Who might wear the crest of Bayard." 

It was my good fortune, 
a few years ago, to meet at 
Rocks Village, on the Merri- 
mac, an aged lady — "the 
whitehaired villager" — the 
mother of Mrs. Rebecca 
Davis. In her girlhood she 
was a playmate of Mary 
Ingalls, the village maiden 
who married the expatriated 
count Francois Vibert. She 
remembered the graceful 
ways of the count and the 
sweet disposition of the girl. 
At the time of my visit the 
house where Mary Ingalls 
lived was still standing. YVhit- 
WHITTIER'S LITTLE FRIEND tier has beautifully told the 
MABELLE romantic story in "The 


The "garden room" at the Amesbury home remains 
nearly as the poet left it. Here he wrote "The Pressed 
Gentian." It was his habit to stand by a window and watch 
the wandering clouds, the drift of the rain, or the falling 
snow. When want followed them as a shadow there was 
thoughtfulness in his heart for all of God's creatures ; he did 
not turn away from present need, hoping in the hereafter 
to gather interest on affected tears for far-away ills, but 
when snow was deep and winds cruel threw crumbs to the 
junco, the song-sparrow and the robin redbreast. 




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. . ,. /.'*? fit 



4 ■ l A Vt 

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pi %§^ 






In a drawer of a cabinet in this room are two minia- 
tures painted on ivory. One is a portrait of Whittier at 
the age of twenty-two; the other is Evelina Bray at seven- 
teen. It is an attractive face, with large, expressive brown 

Drawn for this Magazine by Clinton H. Cheney 


eyes, rosy cheeks, and mouth indicating firmness as well as 
a mirthful disposition ; in her brown hair is lightly twined 
a wreath of small flowers; perhaps the single wild roses 
that trail in hedges by seaside roads. This young girl was 
an acquaintance of academy days, and lived in Marblehead. 
On an early June morning Whittier walked over from 

194 LABOR 

Salem to see her, but she could not ask him in. Both 
families were opposed to the attachment; hers because he 
was a Quaker, and his because she was not a Quaker. It 
was hopeless, but they walked together down to the old 
wharf, and to the ruined fort. 

Morning fell rose-red upon the sea, upon sails that 
passed and were lost to sight, upon boats that rocked on 
the falling tide, and breaking through the ruined parapets 
X)f the old gray fort, lay in paths of alternate light and 
shade upon the earth. Then she, seeing that he was stand- 
ing in gloom, stepped out of the light and stood by his side 
in the shadow. Was it prophetic of destiny ? 

Then beautiful Evelina Bray and John G. Whittier, 
separated by a faith that was unfaith, parted never to 

"Sweetly along the Salem road 
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed." 

When the sun rose the breeze brought in from the 
ebbing tide the heavy scents of the sea; the slow current 
of the air trailed a thin veil of mist anions the black cones 
of the pointed firs, and all along my way from Salem to 
Marblehead the morning was awakening with sounds of a 
new summer day. 

It was the same road that, two-thirds of a century 
before, Whittier walked to see Evelina Bray. 


By Francis S. Osgood 

"Labor is worship !" the robin is singing 5 
"Labor is worship!" the wild bee is ringing. 
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower, 
From the rough sods blows the soft-breathing flower, 
From the small insect, the rich coral bower. 
Only man in the plan shrinks from his part. 


QZtyt J>notoj> SCHjino 

By George Waldo Browne 


ERE the sleep of the 
wilderness was broken 
by the woodman's axe, 
and the sons of the for- 
est listened to no deeper 
plaint than the sighing 
of the pine, a stranger 
came to the dwelling 
place of the Coos, whose 
wigwams sto d on the 
banks of a small stream 
which fed the hungry 

Though the warrior of a rival nation the Cobs pitied 
the new-comer, the wild light in whose burning orbs told 
of the fever racking his bosom, the pinched and haggard 
countenance bespeaking great privation, the bleeding feet 
witnesses of many miles of weary journeying. 

The stranger might be a hunted fugitive, or a spy sent 
among them,, but they questioned him not. They cared 
for him as a brother. Robes were brought that he might 
rest his aching frame ; and when he had recovered some- 
what, choice portions of venison were placed before him and 
he was told to eat. 

Obeying most gladly, so great was his hunger, he had 
barely tasted of the tempting food, when a deer with sides 
as spotless as autumn snow came down to the stream to 
slake its thirst in the limpid flood. 

The Mohegan beheld the beautiful creature and ate no 
more. His benefactors saw the snowy albino and were 



dumb. Thereupon the fugitive from the vales of the 
Housatonic told this tale unto the sons of Coos : 

So many moons lost that our oldest story-teller cannot 
remember the time, there came to drink at the fountain of 
the Waunita, when the trees began to put on their gold 
and russet vestures, a deer with spotless sides, white limbs, 
and eyes of the softest pink. 

No warrior fitted arrow against her, for it was believed 
that she came with good tidings, that her light footstep 
brought a plentiful harvest. "So long as the snowy albino 
comes to drink of the fountains of the Waunita unmo- 
lested," the legend ran, "so long shall famine not blight the 
red man's land, nor pestilence enter his lodge, nor foemen 
despoil his home." 

So as regularly as the antumn frost tipped with crim- 
son the cherry, the sacred albino came to taste of the water 
of the Waunita, protected by the loving watchfulness of 
the red sons of man, and peace and prosperity smiled upon 
the valley of the Housatonic. 

Fortunate indeed was the maid in her love dreams who 
first gazed on the sacred deer as she returned each autumn. 
Alia, the fairest of the chieftain's daughters, had seen the 
beautiful creature twice, and was deemed the blest of 
favored ones. But she had two lovers, enough to try a 
maiden's heart. 

One of the suitors who was sorely trying Alia's peace 
of mind was Teton the eagle-eyed, the other was Waudon 
the fleet-footed. Both were braves who had won proud 
renown in the chase, and were equally determined to win 
her hand. 

At this time a strange footprint appeared in the path- 
way of the red man, and the autumn rains could not wash 
it out. But the simple forest son opened his arms to the 
new-comer and treated him to the best of his land. 

And it came about that this stranger, whose very touch 
was blight, saw the snowy albino, and he coveted the sacred 
doe's fair coat, and he wanted it as a trophy to take back 


to his people. But no warrior among the Mohegans would 
raise an arrow to slay the sacred deer, until the stranger 
with his heart under his feet met the disappointed lover", 
Waudon the fleet-footed. 

To him the snowy albino had not brought good cheer 
on its last visit, for Alia had decided in favor of Teton the 
eagle-eyed. So he listened to the paleface's crooked words, 
and what was worse drank of his firewater, and his mind 
was like rotten wood and his heart was as stone. 

In his fit of revenge and desperation, he sent the sharp- 
pointed arrow deep into the side of the white deer, that 
had grown tame in her years of unmolested security. If 
he was drunk with revenge and firewater when he made that 
shot, he was sober enough when he saw what he had done, 
and knew that the <rood fortune of the Mohegans was for 
ever blasted. 

Loud and deep were the lamentations of the red men 
when they knew that the white guardian of their prosperity 
was dead by one of their sons, and that the sun would look 
darkly henceforth on the lodges and lands of the Mohegans. 
They would have slain Waudon the fleet-footed, had they 
known him guilty of the infamous deed. 

From the day of that evil deed drought pinched their 
harvests, white men pillaged their homes, and disease 
thinned their warrior ranks. 

Teton the eagle-eyed fell in the first battle with the 
pale-faces, while Waudon the fleet-footed escaped. But 
Alia's heart was in her lover's grave, and she smiled not on 
him. He drank deeper and deeper of firewater, until one 
dav he told like a babbling old woman, the secret that 
cursed his life. 

No sooner had he spoken than he was an outcast and a 
hunted fugitive. Stealing like a thief through the forest 
where he had so often followed the chase, the foremost of the 
brave, he eluded his pursuers; but for Waudon the fleet- 
footed there was no more rest. He wandered far from the 
lodge of his father, and in this strange land — 


Here the voice of the narrator became silent, and his 
gaze grew glassy as it was fixed on the snowy albino, that, 
having slaked its thirst in the stream, still tarried by its 
bank as if unwilling to leave the place. 

Though the stranger had not declared his identity, his 
listeners knew he was Waudon the outlaw. And thither 
the spirit of the snowy Albino had followed him. Were 
they angry with the renegade Mohegan, that wrath van- 
ished as thev saw that he was dead. 

The sacred deer of the Housatonic still tarried with 
them unharmed by the hand of a Cods, who saw in the 
glance of its mournful eye and heard in the tread of its 
light feet the speedy coming of that race, vague revelations 
of which had reached them in their mountain solitude. 

Ctoaring 25rook 

By J. R. Paddock 

Born mid living springs and fountains, 
'Neath the fir trees on the mountains, 
Bubbling, gushing, laughing, splashing, 
'Round the rocks and tree trunks dashini 
Over precipices leaping, 
Foam and mist its path close keeping, 
Careless of what is to be, 
Reckless in its liberty. 

Listen ! how its voices call 

To the pine trees, slim and tall. 

Hear its roaring waterfall ! 

In the damp and dark ravine, 

Fringed above with evergreen ! 

Here a forest oak uptorn 

By the winds, in winter's storms, 

Checks its wayward course and forms 

Barriers over which it rides 

In long, wild, tumultuous tides. 


Now in whirling pools, swift gliding, 
Where the wary trout lies hiding, 
Now where fragrant tangled ferns 
Pendant hang from rocky urns, 
Then 'twixt velvet banks of moss, 
Glistening, shelving rocks across, 
Where the wild arbutus grows, 
Peeping first from winter's snows. 

Soon it leaves its rocky bed, 
Flows through meadows carpeted 
Emerald green, with flowers of gold, 
Buttercups and marigold. 
Here the willow branches sink 
To its water's very brink, 
And the cattle come to drink. 
Stand and cool their parched feet, 
In the days of summer heat. 

Turns the old mill's ponderous wheel, 
Turns the golden corn to meaL 
Turns its power to human weal, 
Turns the clouds its waters feel, 
In the long and silent night, 
Into diamonds, flashing bright. 
Tamed in spirit, once so free, 
Chastened by its industry. 

By the homesteads, by the barns, 

By the orchards, thro' the farms, 

Winding to the river deep; 

On its bosom falls asleep. 

Mountain brook ! I dimly see 

Pictures of my life, in thee ; '^-.^ 

Childhood's happy endless play, 

Youth's fast fleeting holiday ; 

Manhood's toil and stern endeavor; 

Days where memory lives forever. 

May thy river swiftly run ; 

Find the ocean , seek the sun ; 

On his stairs of mist ascend ; 

Winged clouds thy flight attend. 


: -A. * 

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■'<- ."1,1 l»i... --^v 1- ' 


3tn <£>lti Coton fjt> tfje £>ta 

By Thomas Bailey Aldrich 

The following article is reproduced here from an old number of Har- 
pers Magazine, with four of its numerous cuts, with the belief that its 
interest is sufficient to guarantee such republication. The author, whose 
recent death occurred, was born at Portsmouth, N. II., November 1 1, 
1836, and died at Boston, Mass., March 19, 1907. He was peihaps the 
most famous of the writers of prose and verse whose works have honored 
the Granite State as well as afforded a large circle of readers pleasure and 
profit. He has been termed the 'American Merrick," owing to the fnish 
and felicity of his verse. His most successful book was the ' Story of a 
Bad Boy," which seems to have betr the original of the great number of 
bocks along that line. His most successful novel was "Marjory Daw.'' 
He was at different times editor of the New York Evening Mirror, Home 
Journal, Every Saturday, published in Boston and, from 1S81 to 1890, of 
the Atlantic Monthly- — Editor. 


£^J1 CALL it an old town, but it is only comparatively 
^jj old. When one reflects on the countless centuries 
that have gone to the formation of this crust of 
earth on which we live, the most ancient of cities on its 
surface seem merely things of the week before last. It 
was only the other day, then — that is to say, in the month 
of June, 1603— that one Martin Pring, in the ship Speedwell, 
an enormous ship of nearly fifty tons burden, from Bristol, 
England, sailed up the Pascataqua River. The Speedwell, 
numbering thirty men, officers and crew, had for consort 
the Discoverer, of twenty-six tons and thirteen men. After 
following the windings of "the brave river" for twelve miles 
or more, the two vessels turned back and put to sea again, 
having failed in the chief object of the expedition, which 
was to obtain the medicinal Sassafras-tree, from the bark of 
which, as was well known to our ancestors, could be 
distilled the Elixir of Life. 



It was at some point on the left bank of the Pascat- 
aqua, three or four miles from the mouth of the river, that 
worthy Master Pring probably effected one of his several 
landings. The beautiful stream widens suddenly at this 
place, and the then green banks, covered with a net-work 
of strawberry -vines, and sloping invitingly to the lip of the 
water, must have won the tired mariners. The explorers 
found themselves on the QdgQ of a vast forest of oak, hem- 
lock, maple and pine ; but they saw no sassafras-trees to 
speak of, nor did they encounter — what would have been 
infinitely less to their taste — any red men. Here and there 
were discoverable the scattered ashes of fires where the 
Indians had encamped earlier in the spring ; they were 
absent now, at the falls, higher up the streams, where fish 
abounded at that season. The balmy June breeze, laden 
with the delicate breath of wild flowers and the pungent 
odors of spruce and pine, ruffled the blue sky reflected in 
the water; the new leaves lisped pleasantly in the tree-tops, 
and the birds were singing "in full-throated ease." No 
ruder sound or movement of life disturbed the solitude. 
Master Pring would scarcely recognize the spot if he were 
to land there to-day. 

Nine years afterward a much cleverer man than the 
commander of the Speedwell dropped anchor in the Pas- 
cataqua — Captain John Smith of famous memory. After 
slaying Turks in hand-to-hand combats, and doing all sorts 
of doughty deeds in various parts of the globe, he had 
come with two vessels to the fisheries on the coast of 
Maine, when curiosity, or perhaps a deeper motive, led him 
to examine the neighboring shore lines. With eight of his 
men in a small boat, a ship's yawl, he skirted the coast from 
Penobscot Bay to Cape Cod, keeping his eye open. This 
keeping his eye open was a peculiarity of the little captain's. 
It was Smith who really discovered the Isles of Shoals, 
exploring in person those masses of bleached rock — those 
"isles asses hauies," of which the French navigator Pierre 
de Guast, Sieur de Monts, had caught a vague glimpse 


through the twilight in 1605. Captain Smith christened 
the group "Smith Isles," a title which posterity, with singu- 
lar persistence of ingratitude, has ignored. It was a tardy 
sense of justice that expressed itself a few years ago in 
erecting on Star Island a simple marble shaft to the 
memory of John Smith, the greatest, though by no means 
the only one, of the name. 

It was doubtless owing to Captain John Smith's repre- 
sentations, on his return to England, that the Laconia 
Company selected the banks of the Pascataqua for their 
plantation. Smith was an intimate friend of Sir Ferdinand 
Gorges, who, five years subsequently, made a tour of inspec- 
tion along the New England coast, in company with John 
Mason, then Governor of Newfoundland. One of the 
results of this summer cruise is the town of Portsmouth, 
among whose leafy streets, and into some of whose old- 
fashioned houses, I propose to take the reader, if he has an 
idle hour on his hands. 


It is not supposable that the early settlers selected the 
site of their plantation on account of its picturesqueness. 
They were influenced entirely by the lay of the land, its 
nearness and easy access to the sea, and the secure harbor 
it offered to their fishing vessels ; yet they could not have 
chosen a more beautiful spot if beauty had been the sole 
consideration. The first settlement was made at Odiorne's 
Point — the Pilgrim's Rock of New Hampshire; there the 
Manor, or Mason's Hall, was built by the Laconia Company 
in 1623. It was not until 1631 that the ''Great House" was 
erected by Humphrey Chadborn on Strawberry Bank. 
Mr. Chadborn, consciously or unconsciously, sowed a seed 
from which a city has sprung. 

The town of Portsmouth stretches along the south 
bank of the Pascataqua, about two miles from the sea, as 
the crow flies — three miles following the serpentine course 
of the river. The stream, as has been stated, broadens 


suddenly at this point and, at flood tide, lying without a 
ripple in a basin formed by the interlocked islands and the 
main-land, it looks more like an inland lake than a river. 


To the unaccustomed eye there is no outlet visible. Stand- 
ing on one of the wharves at the foot of State or Court 
Street, a stranger would scarcely suspect the contiguity of 
the ocean. A little observation, however, would show him 
that he was in a sea-port. The rich red rust on the gables 
and roofs of ancient buildings looking seaward would tell 
him that. There is a fitful saline flavor in the air, and if a 
dense white fog should come rolling in — like a line of 
phantom breakers — as he gazed he would no longer have 
any doubts. 

It is, of course, the oldest part of the town that skirts 
the river, though few of the notable houses that remain are 
to be found there. Like all New England settlements, 
Portsmouth was built of wood, and has been several times 
subjected to extensive conflagrations. You very seldom 
encounter a brick building that is not shockingly modern. 

S Jfe 


Though many of the old landmarks have been swept 
away by the fateful hand of time and fire, the town 
impresses you as a very old town, especially as you saunter 
along the streets down by the river. The worm-eaten 
wharves, some of them covered by a sparse, unhealthy beard 
of grass, and the weather-beaten, unoccupied warehouses, 
go far to satisfy your sense of antiquity. Those deserted 
piers, and those long rows of empty barracks, with their 
sarcastic cranes projecting idly from the eaves, rather 
puzzle the stranger. Why this great preparation for a com- 
mercial activity that does not exist, and evidently has not 
existed for years ? There are no ships lying at the pier 
heads ; there are no gangs of men staggering under heavy 
cases of merchandise; here and there is a barge laden down 
to the bulwarks with coal, and here and there a square- 
rigged schooner from Maine smothered with planks and 
clapboards; an imported citizen is fishing at the end of a 



wharf, a ruminative, freckled son of Cork, and own brother 
to the lazy sunshine that seems to be sole proprietor of 
these crumbling piers and ridiculous store-houses, from 
which even the ghost of commerce has fled. 


Once upon a time, however, Portsmouth carried on an 
extensive trade with the West Indies, threatening as a 
maritime port to eclipse both Boston and New York. At 
the windows of those old counting-rooms which overlook 
the river near Spring Market used to stand portly mer- 
chants, in knee-breeches and silver shoe-buckles and plumb 
colored coats with ruffles at the wrist, waiting for their 
ships to come in; the cries of stevedores and the chants of 
sailors at the windlass used to echo along the shore where 
all is silence now. For reasons not worth setting forth, 
the trade with the Indies suddenly ceased, having ruined as 
well as enriched many a Portsmouth merchant. This 
explains the empty warehouses and the unused wharves. 
I fancy that few fortunes are either made or lost in Ports- 
mouth nowadays. Formerly it turned out the best ships, as 
it still does the ablest ship captains, in the world ; but the 
building of ships has declined there. Portsmouth has one 
or two large cotton factories, and several thriving brew- 
eries; it is a wealthy old town, with a liking for first mort- 
gages ; but its warmest lover will not claim for Portsmouth 
the distinction of being a great mercantile center. The 
majority of her young men are forced to seek other fields 
of enterprise, and almost every city in the Union, and 
many a city across the sea, can point to some prominent 
merchant, or lawyer, or what not, as "a Portsmouth boy." 
Portsmouth even furnished a late King of the Sandwich 
Islands, Kekuanaoa, with his Prime Minister. He may not, 
to be sure, according to Mark Twain, have been a Richelieu ; 
but then the nankeen monarch himself was not of a first- 
class iine of goods. 

To come back to the wharves. I do not know of any 
spot with such a fascinating air of dreams and idleness 
about it as the old wharf at the end of Court Street. The 
very fact that it was once a noisy, busy place, crowded with 
sailors and soldeirs — in the War of 1812 — gives an enchant- 
ing emphasis to the quiet that broods over it to-day. The 
lounger who sits of a summer afternoon on a rusty anchor 


fluke in the shadow of one of the silent warehouses, and 
looks on the lonely river as it goes murmuring past the 
town can not be too grateful to the India trade for having 
taken itself off elsewhere. 

What a slumberous, delightful, lazy place it is! The 
sunshine seems to lie a foot deep on the planks of the 
dusty wharf, which yields up to the warmth a vague per- 
fume of the cargoes of rum, molasses and spice that used to 
be piled upon it. The river is as blue as the inside of a hare- 
bell. The opposite shore, in the strangely shifting magic 
lights of sky and water, stretches along like the silvery 
coast of fairy-land. Directly opposite you is the Navy 
Yard, with its neat officers' quarters and workshops and 
arsenals, and its vast ship-houses, in which the keel of 
many a famous frigate has been laid. Those monster 
buildings on the water's edge, with their roofs pierced with 
innumerable little windows, which blink like eyes in the 
sunlight, are the ship-houses. On your right lies a cluster 
of small islands — there are a dozen or more in the harbor — 
on the most prominent of which you see the fading-away 
remains of some earth-works thrown up in 1812. Between 
this — Trefethen's Island — and Peirce's Island lie the 
Narrows. Perhaps a bark or a sloop of war is making up 
to town ; the hulk is hidden among the islands, and the 
topmasts have the effect of sweeping across the dry land. 
On your left is a long bridge, more than a quarter of a mile 
in length, set upon piles where the water is twenty or thirty 
feet deep, leading to the Navy Yard and Kittery — the 
Kittery so often mentioned in Whittier's verse. 

This is a mere outline of the landscape that spreads 
before you. Its protean beauty of form and color, with the 
summer clouds floating over it, is not to be painted in 
words. I know of many a place where the scenery is more 
varied and striking ; but there is a mandragora quality 
in the atmosphere here that holds you to the spot, and 
makes the half hours seem like minutes. Except for 
family ties — which include breakfast, dinner and tea — I 



could fancy a man sitting on the end of that old wharf very 
contentedly for two or three years, provided it could be 
always June. 

_- _. __^__ Perhaps, too, one 

^ fl J 3^ ^ would desire it to 

alwavs hi eh 




y&g b e 

%¥k water. The tide 
"--^ falls from eight to 
m twelve feet, and 
when the water 
makes out between 
the wharves some 
of the picturesque- 
ness makes out 
also. A corroded 
section of stove- 
pipe mailed in bar- 
nacles, or the 

,--- 1 

a hoop-skirt pro- 
truding from the 
tide mudlikethe 
remains of some 
old-time wreck, 
is apt to break 
the enchant- 

I fear I have 
given the reader 
an exaggerated 
idea of the soli- 
tude that reigns 
along the river- 
side. Sometimes 
there is society 
here of an unconventional kind, if you care to seek it. 
Aside from the foreign gentleman before mentioned, you 

'-£ ^j^m 

.. ; " 

-%. .--"" 

' ■ *~ ~: ,. 


.^' i •".•'" 


-'1 ? \ iW*-VZ 

Jb 5 








are likely to encounter, farther down the shore toward the 
Point of Graves (a burial-place of the colonial period), a 
battered and aged native fisherman boiling lobsters on a 
little gravelly beach, where the river whispers and lisps 
among the pebbles as the tide creeps in. It is a weather- 
beaten ex-skipper or ex-pilot, with strands of coarse hair, 
like sea-weed falling about a face that has the expression of 
a half-open clam. He is always ready to talk with you, 
this amphibious person ; and if he is not the most enter- 
taining of gossips — as weather-wise as Old Probabilities, 
and as full of incident as one of the best of Captain 
Marryat's naval novels — then he is not the ancient mariner 
I used to see a few months ago on the a strip of beach just 
beyond Liberty Bridge, building his drift-wood fire under a 
great tin boiler, and making it rather lively for a lot of 
reluctant lobsters. 

I imagine that very little change has taken place in 
this immediate locality, known prosaically as "Puddle 
Dock," during the past fifty or sixty years. The view, 
looking across Liberty Bridge, Water Street, is probably 
the same in every respect that presented itself to the 
eyes of the rambler a century ago. The flag-staff on 
the right is the representative of the old "standard of 
liberty" which the Sons planted on this spot in January, 
1766, signalizing their opposition to the enforcement of the 
Stamp Act. On the same occasion the patriots called at 
the house of Mr. George Meserve, the agent for distribut- 
ing the stamps in New Hampshire, and relieved him of his 
stamp-master's commission, which document they carried 
on the point of a sword through the town to Liberty Bridge 
(then Swing Bridge), where they erected the staff, with the 
motto, "Liberty, Property, and no Stamp !" 

Turning down a lane on your left, a few rods beyond 
the bridge, you reach a spot known as the Point of Graves, 
chiefly interesting as showing what a grave-yard may come 
to if it last long enough. In 167 1 one Captain John 
Pickering ceded to the town a piece of ground on this neck 


for burial purposes. It is an odd-shaped lot, comprising- 
about half a acre, inclosed by a crumbling red brick wall 
two or three feet high, with wood capping. The place is 
overgrown with thistles, rank grass and fungi; the black 
slate headstones have mostly fallen over ; those that still 
make a pretense of standing slant to every point of the 
compass, and look as if they were being blown this way 
and that by a mysterious gale which leaves everything 
else untouched; the mounds have sunk to the common 
level, and the old under-ground tombs have collapsed. 
Here and there among the moss and weeds you can pick 
out some name that shines in the history of the early settle- 
ment ; hundreds of the flower of the colony lie here, but 
the known and the unknown, gentle and simple, mingle 
their dust on a perfect equality now. The marble that 
once bore a haughty coat of arms is as smooth as the 
humblest slate stone guiltless of heraldry. The lion and 
the unicorn, wherever they appear on some cracked slab, 
are very much tamed by time. The once fat-faced cherubs, 
with wing at either cheek, are the merest skeletons now. 
Pride, pomp, grief and remembrance are all at an end. No 
reverent feet come here, no tears fall here ; the old grave- 
yard itself is dead! A more dismal, uncanny spot than 
this at twilight would be hard to find. It is noticed that 
when the boys pass it after night-fall, they always go by 
whistling with a gayety that is perfectly hollow. 
Let us get into some cheerfuler neighborhood. 


As you leave the river behind you, and pass ''up town," 
the streets grow wider, and the architecture more imposing 
— streets fringed with beautiful old trees and lined with 
commodious private dwellings, mostly square white houses, 
with spacious halls running through the center. Many of 
the residences stand back from the brick or flag-stone side- 
walk, and have pretty gardens at the side or in the rear. 
If you chance to live in the city where the City Fathers 


cannot rest in their beds until they have hacked down every 
precious tree within their blighting reach, you will be 
especially charmed by the beauty of the streets of Ports- 
mouth. In some parts of the town, when the chestnuts 
are in blossom, you would fancy yourself in the midst of a 
garden in fairyland. In spring, summer, and autumn the 
foliage is the glory of the fair town — her luxuriant green 
and golden tresses ! Nothing could seem more like the 
work of enchantment than the spectacle which certain 
streets in Portsmouth present in midwinter after a heavy 
snow-storm. You may walk for miles under wonderful 
silvery arches formed by the overhanging and interlaced 
boughs of the trees, festooned with a drapery even more 
graceful and dazzling than spring-time gives them. The 
numerous elms and maples which shade the principal 
thoroughfares are not the result of chance, but the ample 
reward of the loving care that is taken to preserve the 
trees. There is a society in Portsmouth devoted to this 
work. It is not unusual there for people to leave legacies 
to be expended in setting out shade and ornamental trees 
along some favorite walk. Richards Avenue, a long, 
unbuilt street leading from Middle Street to the South 
Burying-ground, perpetuates the name of a public-spirited 
citizen who gave the labor of his own hands to the beautify- 
ing of that wind-swept and barren road to the cemetery. 

In the business section of the town trees are necessarily 
few. The chief business streets are Congress and Market. 
Market Street is the stronghold of the dry-goods shops. 
There are seasons, I suppose, when these shops are 
crowded, but I have never happened to be in Portsmouth 
at the time. I never pass through the narrow cobble-paved 
street without wondering whese the customers are that 
must keep all these flourishing little establishments going. 
Congress Street — a more elegant thoroughfare then Market 
— is the Tremont Street, the Broadway, the Boulevard des 
Italiens, of Portsmouth. Among the noticeable buildings 
is the Athenaeum, containing a reading-room and library. 


From the high roof of this building the stroller will do 
well to take a glimpse of the surrounding country. He will 
naturally turn sea-ward for the more picturesque aspects. 
If the day is clear, he will see the famous Isles of Shoals, 
lying nine miles away — Appledore, Smutty-Nose, Star 
Island, White Island, etc. ; there are nine of them in all. 
On Appledore is Laighton's Hotel, and near it the summer 
cottage of Celia Thaxter, the poet laureate of the Isles. 
On the northern end of Star Island is the quaint little 
town of Gosport, with a tiny stone church perched like a 
sea-gull on its highest rock. A mile southwest from Star 
Island lies White Island, on which is a lighthouse. Mrs. 
Thaxter called this the most picturesque of the group. 
Perilous neighbors, O mariner ! in any but the serenest 
weather these wrinkled, scarred, and storm-smitten old 
rocks, flanked by wicked, sunken ledges that grow white at 
the lip with rage when the great winds blow ! 

How peaceful it all looks off there, on the smooth 
emerald sea ! and how softly the waves seem to break on 
yonder point where the unfinished fort is! That is the 
ancient town of Newcastle, to reach which from Ports- 
mouth you have to cross three bridges, with the loveliest 
scenery in New Hampshire lying on either hand. Opposite 
Newcastle is Kittery Point, a romantic spot, where Sir 
William Pepperell (the first and only American baronet) 
once lived, and where his tomb now is, in his orchard, 
across the road, a few hundred yards from the "goodly 
mansion" he built. The knight's tomb, and the old Pep- 
perell House, which has been somewhat curtailed of its 
fair proportions, are the objects of frequent pilgrimages to 
Kittery Point, where there is, I believe, an excellent sum- 
mer boarding-house. 

(To be continued.) 

^Tfje ^toorbs of <$rant ana Hee 

By Thomas C. Harbaugh 

Methinks to-night I catch a gleam of steel among the pines, 
And yonder by the lilied stream repose the foemen's lines, 
The ghostly guards who pace the ground, a moment stop to see 
If all is safe and still, around the tents of Grant and Lee. 

'Tis but a dream : no armies camp where once their bay'nets shone, 

And Hesper's calm and lovely lamp shines on the dead alone; 

A cricket chirps on yonder rise beneath the cedar tree 

Where glinted 'neath the summer skies the swords of Grant and Lee. 

Forever sheathed those famous blades that led the eager van, 
They shine no more among the glades that fringe the Rapidan. 
To-day their batttle work is done. Go draw them forth and see 
The gentle sunlight fall upon the swords of Grant and Lee. 

The gallant men who saw them flash in comradeship to-day, 
Recall the wild, impetuous dash of valorous Blue and Gray, 
And 'neath the flag that proudly waves above a Nation free 
They oft recall the missing braves who fought wilh Grant and Lee. 

They sleep among the tender grass, they slumber neath the pines, 
They're camping in the mountain pass where crouched the serried lines ; 
They rest where loud the tempests blow, destructive in their glee — 
The men who followed long ago the swords of Grant and Lee. 

Their graves are lying side by side where once they met as foes, 
And where they, in the wildwood died, springs up a blood-red rose; 
O'er them the bee on golden wing doth flit, and in yon tree, 
A gentle robin seems to sing to them of Grant and Lee- 
To-day no strifes of sections rise, to-day no shadows fall 
Upon our land and 'neath the skies, one flag waves over all ; 
The Blue and Gray as comrades stand, as comrades bend the knee 
And ask God's blessings on the land, that gave us Grant and Lee. 

So long as Southward, wide and clear, Potomac's river runs, 
Their deeds will live, because they were Columbia's hero sons; 
So long as bend the Northern pines and blooms the orange tree 
The swords will shine that led the lines of valiant Grant and Lee. 

Methinks I hear a bugle blow, methinks I hear a drum, 
And there, with martial step and slow, two ghostly armies come. 
They are the men who met as foes, for 'tis the dead I see, 
And side by side in peace repose the swords of Grant and Lee. 

Above them let Old Glory wave and let each deathless star 
Forever shine upon the brave who led the ranks of war; 
Their fame resounds from coast to coast, from mountain top to sea, 
No other land than ours can boast the swords of Grant and Lee. 


& ifeto dims* *©* <®toe to tfje 

By Mary L. D. Ferris 

Gj? T WAS the Chief Suyjin who discovered fire by the 
^$ accidental friction of two pieces of wood. He also 
invented a method of registering time and events 
by making certain knots on thongs, or cords, twisted out 
of the bark of trees. Chin-wong, the Fourth Emperor, 
invented the plow, and for thousands of years custom 
required each monarch, among the ceremonies of his coro- 
nation, to guide a plow across a field, thus paying due 
honor to agriculture as the art essential to civilization. 

To the wife of Hwang-te, the Usurper, is given the 
honor of having observed the silk produced by worms, of 
having unraveled their cocoons, and of having worked the 
fine filament into a net of cloth. 

Wang-ti, the Third Emperor, it is said, invented the 
compass, 1040 B. C, at the age of fifteen. 

It was Confucius who collected the records (bundles 
of wood) and formed them into a history. 

The Marquis Tsae invented the manufacture of paper 
from the inner bark of trees, ends of hemp, old rags and 
fishing nets. 

The art of printing was invented in China, though 
little use was at first made of the invention. A Chinese 
blacksmith, Pe-Ching, introduced movable type. In 1323 it 
is recorded that the Emperor received revenues from salt, 
that paper money containing the government stamp was 
current in the country, and that the general drink of the 
people was prepared by immersing the leaves of a small 
plant in hot water, which was used medicinally as well as 
for correcting the bad properties of the water. 


Cfje Merrimack as a Maritime 


By A Staff Contributor 

The following facts are taken mainly from reports made by Reuben 
Butterfield Sherburne, of Lexington, Mass., for a long period clerk of the 
Boston and Concord Boating Company, and later with the Boston & 
Lowell Railroad, retiring in his eightieth year. — Compiler. 

z^V^E idea of connecting Boston, then as now the 
' \P j metropolis of New England with Lowell, by canal 
and thus getting in touch with the business of the 
interior of the country, seems to have originated with Hon. 
James Sullivan, and the Middlesex Canal was incorporated 
in 1793 and completed in 1803. Starting from Boston 
Harbor it passed through Charlestown, Medford, Woburn, 
Wilmington, Billerica and Chelmsford to the Merrimack 
River, following for considerable of the way what Professor 
Shaler and others have shown to have been the original 
course of the river. This was a distance of twenty-seven 
miles. Its summit level was at Billerica, one hundred 
and four feet above tide water, and thirty-two feet 
above the bed of the Merrimack at Chelmsford. Its 
breadth at the surface was thirty feet, at the bottom twenty 
feet, and its depth three feet. It had twenty locks, with a 
rise and fall of one hundred and thirty-six feet. 

The Hon. Samuel Blodget had anticipated the pros- 
pect of opening the river farther north, and in 1807, a year 
before the completion of the Middlesex Canal, he had built 
his locks at Amoskeag, Hooksett and Bow, and thus made 
navigation for boats open for fifty-two miles, giving in all 
a distance of seventy-nine miles. 

Mr. Blodget died in September and, though navigation 
began at once upon the Middlesex portion of the route, 



under the supervision of Mr. John L. Sullivan, the only- 
business done above Lowell was through individuals, and 
no regular organization was effected until the year 1811. 
Upon January 17, 1812, the Merrimack Boating Company 
was organized at the office of the Middlesex Canal Com- 
pany, in its office on Cornhill Square, and John L. Sullivan 
was chosen agent. 

Still there were vexatious delays and the company's 
first boat did not reach Concord until the autumn of 
1 814, and it was not until June, 18 15, that boats began to 
run regularly. There is no record to show the amount of 
traffic during this year. 

June 15, 1816, the following notice was circulated: 


By the Merrimack Company's boats is now begun. Two convenient stores 
are erected in Concord, N. H., one on the west side of the river, near the 
bridge, the other on the east side, near the upper bridge. A capable, 
trusty man is employed at each place to take charge of the goods and 
deliver them to the order of owners, and to receive Produce, Merchandise 
and Lumber to be set down, preference to be given to Merchandise. The 
loading will be delivered in Boston at the landing on the Almshouse wharf, 
Leverett street, to the order of the owners, settlement being made for the 
Freight ; and Loading to go up is received there every day in the week. 
The goods first entered and settled for will of course go first. The boats 
will for the present load every Tuesday and Friday, as heretofore, and 
when there shall be business enough every day. 

The Company has never made any charge for storage; the whole 
expense is $13.50 per ton, to the upper landing at the upper bridge in Con- 
cord, and 8£ dollars down, 13 dollars per ton to the Lower bridge in 
Concord and 8 dollars down, 12 per ton to Pembroke, 7^ dollars down, 7 
dollars per ton to Merrimack 6 dollars down. 

As everything will be done to make this mode of conveyance regular 
and convenient to gentlemen in the country, we feel confident of giving 
them satisfaction. When desired, the keeper of the Landing in Boston 
will procure their goods to be trucked there. Information respecting the 
boats will also be given at No. 7 India Wharf. 


Agent for the Company. 

June 15, 181 5. 


"In 1816 Rust's wharf, first above Charles River 
bridge, Boston, was hired for 21 years for a landing. A 
number of warehouses were erected for the purpose of 
receiving and delivering freight. Rates were then made 
to a number of landings on the line, but most of them were 
discontinued as private boats came into use, as the com- 
pany's boats ran through to Concord ever}' trip. The main 
object of the proprietors was to get the business on to the 

"The following were the names of agents, landings 
and rates of freight in 1816: 



Stephen Ambrose Concord (upper) $12 50 

Samuel Butters Concord (lower) 

Caleb Stark Pembroke 11 50 

Richard H. Ayer Dunbarton 

Samuel P. Kidder Manchester 

N. Parker Merrimack (upper) 

Adams & Roby Thornton's 

James Lund Litchfield 

Coburn Blood Dracut 

Levi Foster Chelmsford 

Noah Lund Billerica 

Jotham Gillis Woburn 

William Rogers Medford 

Thomas Kettell Charlestown. 

David Dodge Boston. 

Furniture $24 to $30 per ton, according to weight and room. Empty 
hhds. from Concord, 50c, tierces, 25c, bbls. 18c, hf. bbls. nc each. Hhds. 
staves, $10 per M. Barrel staves, $6 per M. 


Concord, N. H., April 20, 181 6. 

"The Merrimack Company continued business until 
1822. In 1823 the propetry of the Merrimack Boating 
Company was bought by the Boston & Concord Boating 
Company, and an act of incorporation was obtained by 
William and Richard Sullivan, for the Boston & Concord 





12 50 

$S 50 

12 OO 

8 00 

II 50 

7 50 

IO 50 

7 00 

9 25 

6 50 

6 00 

4 5° 

4 5° 

4 00 

4 5° 

4 00 

4 5° 

4 00 

4 5° 

4 00 

3 50 

3 00 

2 50 

2 50 

2 00 

2 00 


Boating Company, February II, 1823, to continue so long 
as the Middlesex Canal was kept open and in operation, 
and no longer. 

"The first meeting of the Boston & Concord Boating 
Company was held at the office of William Sullivan, School 
Street, Boston, April 1, 1S23. The following officers of the 
corporation were elected for the ensuing year : Reuben B. 
Sherburne, secretary ; William Sullivan, president , Rich- 
ard Sullivan, Richard H. Ayer, directors ; Richard Sulli- 
van, treasurer. 

"Voted, That the property be divided into 120 shares. 

'-Voted, To employ Reuben B. Sherburne as agent at 
the Boston landing, and to allow him $600 for his services 
in that place and as secretary of the corporation for that 

"Voted, To employ Theodore French as agent at the 
lower landing, Concord, N. H., and to allow him $500 for 
his services that year. 

"Sherburne and French had been employed by the 
Merrimack Boating Company since 18 16. They were 
annually re-elected, so long as the company continued 
business, — to 1842. 

"Many changes in the manner of doing the business 
were made by the new company. Instead of hiring all the 
boatmen for the season, about one-half were hired for 
spring and fall. The agent at Concord lower landing hired 
the boatmen and made up the crews: wages from $15 to 
$26 per month. The largest number of boats at any time 
was 20. There were 3 men to a boat, making 60 men on 
the route. Capacity of the boats, 15 tons. The most 
important change made was not to have the boats wait for 
freight ; run light or empty, but always to have something 
ready to make full loads, for which purpose such articles as 
salt, lime and plaster were bought by the cargo and kept at 
Boston landing by the agent at that place, aud sold by the 


agent at Concord lower landing. Wood was bought by the 
Concord agent and kept on the river bank to make up 
downward loads, and sold at Boston by the Boston agent. 
The articles bought were on the company's account, and 
generally would pay cost and freight, except the wood, but 
as they would run down as quickly full loaded as partly 
loaded, it paid a small freight. There were several changes 
made, but running with full loads was the greatest improve- 
ment. The running light or empty was the great drawback 
on the profits of all transportation. 

"The time taken by a boat going up was five days, and 
down four days, making nine days to the trip. This was an 
average for twenty years. Rate of freight between Boston 
and lower landing in Concord was, in 1815, $13 up, $8 
down; reduced in 1816 to $12 up and $8 down; reduced in 
1819 to $10 up and $7 down; in 1823 reduced to $8 up and 
$6 down; in 1825 reduced to $7 up and $5 down ; in 1831 
reduced to $5 up and $4 down ; in 1837 raised to $6 up and 
$4 down, on account of having to haul by at Bow Canal ; 
in 1838 reduced to $5 up and $4 down, which rates con- 
tinued until 1842. 

"Granite was brought from Concord for $3.50 per ton, 
at the company's convenience. All the granite in the 
Quincy Market, except the basement and the pillars at the 
ends, was brought from Concord, N. H., by the Boston & 
Concord Boating Company's boats ; most of it passed 
through the "Old Mill Creek," where the Boston & Maine 
Railroad and Blackstone Street now are, and large quan- 
tities were shipped to New Orleans, and also used in the 
city. The last boat passed through the Middlesex Canal 
in 1851. 

"Neither of the boating companies made any dividend 
until 1827. One was made that year, and one every year 
after as long as they did business. The accounts of the 
Boston & Concord Boating Company were kept at Boston 
landing by double entry. A set of books for each year, 
and the third year they were closed, and all balances 

■ ' 


carried to a book termed "old accounts," so that after the 
second year there were three sets of books in use. 

"The transportation business through the canals and 
Merrimack River was ruined in consequence of the Con- 
cord Railroad being opened to Concord, N. H., in 1842. 
The landings, storehouses, horses, boats and equipments, 
being all thrown out of business, were sold as soon as they 
could be, and for a very small sum, and April 1, 1844, the 
final dividend was made. 

"The amount of business in 181 5 was small, and can- 
not now be had. The amount of business of both com- 
panies, from 1 8 16 to 1842, 27 years, was : 

Upward freight $468,756.00 

Downward freight 220,940.00 


Amount paid the canal for tolls 180,611.00 

Bad debts 7,108.50 

"Considering that the business was done on credit, 
this is not a very large percentage. Very little freight was 
paid on shipment, and only a small proportion on delivery. 
Mr. French, the agent at Concord, would, as soon as it was 
good sleighing, take his horse and sleigh and go over 
northern New Hampshire and Vermont collecting, settle 
up with the customers, those who could not pay all giving 
their notes for the balance. These notes were usually paid 
that winter or spring. He was frequently gone on these 
trips two weeks. It was considered by most people that 
freight was a debt of honor, and they would always pay 
when they were able to. 

"The teaming rates before the boats began to run 
between Boston and Concord were $20 per ton. Boating 
companies' rates for a number of years before they were 
run off were $5 up and $4 down. Reduction made by 
boating companies, $15, thus reducing transportation three- 
fourths of its tax per ton. It certainly is desirable that 
the present rates of freight should be reduced in the same 


proportion as the boating companies reduced them, but it 
is doubtful whether it will be done before some new mode 
mode of transportation is discoved." 

Mr Sherburne in speaking of the boating days says: 
"The idea appears to be that the business was done 
in a 'dog and woolen string' way, without any system ; but 
it is very- doubtful whether there is any corporation doing a 
freighting business from Boston that has any better system 
of accounts or manner of conducting its business than the 
Boston & Concord Boating Company had in 1823 and after- 
wards. When the great Boston & Worcester Railroad 
began to have freight offered to them for transportation, 
they did not know what to do with it, and Mr. John Free- 
man, their master of transportation, was sent to the Boat- 
ing Company's agent at Boston landing, who had eighteen 
years' experience in inland transportation, to know how to 
manage the freighting business, and what books and blanks 
were necessary for the purpose." 

In 1 8 19 Mr. Sullivan conceived the idea of running 
a steamboat on the river, but one trip satisfied him. There 
were packet boats on the Middlesex Canal for the convey- 
ance of passengers, one running each way daily for a time. 
Then one boat plied back and forth making its trips alter- 
nately up and down between Lowell and Boston. They 
left Charlestown Mills at eight o'clock in the morning and 
reached Chelmsford at two o'clock in the afternoon. The 
fare was seventy-five cents for adults and half that for 
children. This was a cheap and pleasant way of travel 
until the Boston & Lowell Railroad supplanted them in 

A Plain Tale of Plain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By George Waldo Browne 

[Copyright, 1906, by the Author] 
What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue! — Burke. 



Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; 

Away went hat and wig; 
He little dreamt when he set out 

Of running such a rig. 

— Cowptr. 

C^lT GOES without saying that this was an anxious 
period to Abe Goodwill, who was training old Bet 
^^ as best he could for the coming race at Coldbrook. 
In this he was assisted by Freeland Newbegin to a consid- 
erable extent, while little Enoch did all in his power toward 
helping along the undertaking. He was the most enthusi- 
astic of the trio, and it w r ould have done a looker-on good 
to have witnessed his supreme delight as he saw the 
fleet-footed mare come in on the home stretch. With his 
eyes scintillating with pleasure he would clap his hands, and 
had it not been for the fact that it was necessary to remain 
quiet or ruin the whole affair he would have made the 
night-welkin ring with his shouts. 

Every night during that phase of the moon which was 
favorable to his plans Abe led old Bet cautiously out of the 



back door of the barn, and after making a detour down 
through the field, so as to keep out of sight of the house, 
in case his father should happen to rise after going to bed, 
reached the road at the foot of the hill. Here he would be 
met by the town claimant and Enoch, when the three would 
follow silently the roundabout road to the village green 
that has been described, being careful not to reach the 
course until the last light had been extinguished at the Cen- 
ter, and only the "harbor light" was to be seen. Then, with 
his friends on the lookout, Abe quietly sent the old brown 
mare around the course at her best speed. A trial of this 
kind was made on Saturday evening, as the midnight hour 
drew near. If the anxious trainer encroached a little on 
the Sabbath it was due to his zealousness to give old Bet 
all the benefit possible for this practice, which might be the 
last available trial, rather than from any intention of intrud- 
ing on the day of the church. 

"If I only can keep Bet from breaking on the third 
quarter she'll come in O K," declared Abe over and again. 
"My guns ! won't folks stick out their eyes ?" 

"And dad most of all !" whose eyes twinkled like twin 
stars as he spoke. 

"He'll scold like blazes," acknowledged Abe. "But if 
we get the prize it'll fix him all right. If we don't, why we 
shall have stand it, I s'pose." 

Reaching home on this Saturday night in safety Abe 
spent until nearly daylight at work upon the mare so as to 
remove all trace of her recent hard work, as he knew his 
father would drive to church with her in the forenoon. He 
did his work so well that the astute deacon did not discover 
anything irregular in her appearance. Had he been a 
little more thoughtful about the matter he must have 
observed that the old mare's coat bore a suspicious, because 
uncommon, sleekness. But, as has been said, he failed to 
notice this and, arrayed in his best clothes even to his bell- 
crowned hat, with its upper story filled with the valuable 
papers he invariably carried with him, the suit being that 


in which he had been married a quarter of a century before, 
he climbed to the seat, and picking up the reins drove away 
toward the village. Mrs. Goodwill was suffering from a 
throbbing headache, so had excused herself from going. 
Abe must stay at home to look after the chores. 

That this fact did not rest very heavily upon the young 
farmer's mind was apparent by the broad grin upon his sun- 
burned countenance as he watched his father ride down the 
hill until the wagon disappeared around a turn in the road. 

"If we come out of the race as well as we have the trial," 
he mused, "we shall have stunnin' success Thursday. My 
next difficulty will be to get Bet over to Coldbrook without 
letting dad know it. It looks as though I had got some 
big figurin' to do to plan it aout. But all the brooks I've 
seen have some crossing place." 

Deacon Goodwill, his thoughts widely removed from 
those matters at such variance with his religious ideas, 
jogged along toward the village, leaving old Bet to choose 
her own pace, which was naturally one in keeping with the 
dignity of the Sabbath morning. In this thoughtful mood 
he finally came in sight of the meeting house, where for 
more than half a century he had regularly attended divine 
worship, and was looked upon as one of the strongest 
pillars of the church. 

"I feel lonesome without Susan," he meditated, "but 
of course it was my bounden duty to let her stay at home 
with her headache. I oughter made th' boys come. Ya'as, 
I'm negligent o' my dooty with 'em. Comin' next Sabbath 
they must come erlong, too." 

He had barely come to this conclusion, and was about 
to head old Bet into the yard in front of the meeting house, 
when a merry shout from his right arrested his attention. 
Turning quickly about he was horrified to discover a sight 
that he had never dreamed might desecrate the holy scene. 
The trotting course on the village green at this point ran 
within plain view of the road and within a few rods of the 
church. Judge of his amazement then when he saw two 


or three graceless youths coming down the track evidently 
trying the speed of their horses ! Racing horses on the 
Sabbath ! Small wonder if strait-laced Deacon Goodwill 
actually turned pale with horror and gave expression to an 
utterance more emphatic than reverent. 

In justice to the jockeys it should be said that they were 
not really racing on trial but, as the deacon's boys unknown 
to him had done the night before, were training their trotters 
so as to fit them for the great trial at Coldbrook. Then, 
too, out of respect to the church-goers, if not to them- 
selves, they had intended to finish their trial before this 
time. Undue excitement arising from the closeness of the 
competition had made them unmindful of the lateness of 
the hour. 

Naturally excitable, the sight sent the warm blood 
tingling through the veins of Deacon Goodwill and, 
quickly resolving to check the race at the beginning, he 
struck Bet a sharp blow, and reining her toward the course 
determined to head off the "ungodly youths." This proved 
a most unhappy action on his part. Brown Bet, suddenly 
aroused by the excitement of her driver, and possibly 
remembering her recent nightly trials over this same way, 
instantly caught the spirit of the scene. As the three sur- 
prised racers came abreast of her the mare joined in the 
sport with a royal good will. 

"Whoa-w-h-o-a-a-a!" cried the horrified member of 
Sunset Church, pulling frantically on the reins. This only 
served to nerve Brown Bet to greater activity, so the wild 
cries and efforts of the. astounded and helpless deacon only 
spurred her ahead with renewed speed. The jockeys, 
suddenly and unexpectedly finding they had a new rival on 
the scene that promised to be no mean competitor, shouted 
to their horses, their voices lending volume to the wild out- 
bursts that rang so discordantly on the quiet Sabbath 

"Go it, old bean-pole !" shouted one of the more 
excited jockeys, whereupon a cheer came from some spec- 


tators who had appeared on the scene when they were least 
desired, as is apt to be the case on occasions like that. The 
four were now speeding down the track neck and neck. 

"Two to one the deacon wins!" yelled an excited 
bystander, who had recognized the driver of old Bet. 
Others held their breaths as they saw with dismay the most 
unlooked-for spectacle of Deacon Goodwill racing horses 
on Sunday. As people will gather on such scenes, coming 
from whence on one can tell in such a short space of time, 
so the members of his church rushed to see the startling 
sight. All the time the frightened deacon was doing every- 
thing in his power to abandon a race which had never been 
in his mind. But Bet was under full gait before he had 
awakened to a realization of his true situation, and now she 
was indifferent alike to his cries and his efforts to stop 

"Whoa! whoa! whoa! w-h-o-a-a-a-a-, Bet, w-h-o-a-p ! 
Lord of mercy ! what shall I do ?" 

"Go it, deacon !" shouted some of the excited specta- 
tors, wild with delight. "You've got 'em foul ! You're all 
right for Coldbrook !" 

Others, the majority, held up their hands in silent 
horror, unable to credit their own sight, and at a loss to 
account for this unheard-of race. 

Brown Bet had taken the cue, likewise the bit, and she 
was not only willing but determined to do her part. Faster 
and faster she flew around the course, her swift feet hardly 
touching the ground. What if the wagon was heavy? 
Over the track she had followed so often by moonlight she 
now sped by day, regardless that it was Sunday, for all days 
were alike to her. Deacon Goodwill's tall hat flew off early 
in the race, and his valuable papers went flying in every 
direction, as if bent on matching their owner in his erratic 
career. The ancient, bell-crowned beaver — an heirloom in 
the family — was crushed under one of the wheels of the 
fast-flying jockeys. Giving away under the pressure of his 
furious exertions upon the reins, his wedding coat split up 


and down the back from collar to binding. His thin gray 
locks, finding sudden freedom from his bare head, streamed 
out behind until it seemed as if they were about to fly 
away in disgust from him who had so little regard for the 
decency of the hour. Never was these such a race on the 
Flatiron, not even in the "ungodly days," when the elder 
Newbegin under a wager of one hundred dollars rode four 
different horses around the half-mile course each twice 
inside of ten minutes, and won his bet. 

Very soon the old mare forged ahead of her rivals and, 
in spite of whip and voice, continued to gain upon them. 
In vain the jockeys shouted themselves hoarse, for at the 
finish Brown Bet came in three times her length ahead, 
without having made a break, and apparently as ready for 
another spurt as at first. 

The onlookers — at least some of them — cheered vocif- 
erously over the victory, as the mare came, of her own free 
will, to a standstill a little below the starting point. The 
race won, old Bet was docile enough now, and with almost 
human intelligence looked around for the pat and the kind 
word she would have been sure to get from her younger 
master. But Deacon Goodwill was in no mood for sooth- 
saying. In fact, he was in a most unenviable frame of 
mind, humiliated, disgraced, bewildered, angry with the 
old mare, angry with the thoughtless crowd which had 
looked on his escapade with such mingled delight and 
horror, angry with himself and at variance with every kind 
thought. Groaning in his shame and humiliation, he 
headed old Bet homeward and drove away, without looking 
toward the house of God, or answering either the jeers of 
his enemies or the commiserating appeals of his friends. 
Nor was old Bet allowed to slacken her gait until she had 
climbed the hill leading to the farmhouse. At the door her 
owner jerked upon the rein for her to stop, and he climbed 
clumsily out, like one who had lost the use of his limbs, and 
bareheaded as he was and dilapidated in his appearance, he 


walked into the house, leaving the mare to shift for her- 

Abe and Enoch, who happened to be in sight, stepped 
forward to care for Bet, at a loss to understand what had 
taken place, though with a vague realization that it was 
something likely to prove disastrous to their hopes. 

"Yaou look as if yaou had been on the track, old Bet," 
whispered Abe, as he applied the card and brush to her 
steaming coat. "Is it so, old girl ?" And whether the 
intelligent animal meant it as a reply or no, she bowed her 
head and, reaching around to Abe, laid it against his, neigh- 
ing softly. 

"Yaou have, Bet ! I knaow it j ust as well as if some 
one had told me ! And you winned aout !" said the young 
groom, joyously. Then a shadow came over his sunburned 
countenance, and he relapsed into silence. Little Enoch 
moved about uneasily, but did not dare to ask the question 
uppermost in his mind. 

They did not learn the truth until an hour later, when 
Everybody's Sam came, bringing their father's battered 
hat and, what was of more consequence, the papers that 
had been in it. 

"I picked up all I could find," declared Sam, "and I 
hope they are all there." 

"Yaou're very kind, Sam. But tell us just what has 

"It was so funny that I larf now when I think of it. 
I s'pose it's mean, but I can't help it, he looked so funny," 
and with this introduction Sam proceeded to describe the 
impromptu race on Sunset Flatiron, while Abe and Enoch 
listened with breathless interest. A little later Sam went 
away, and Abe carried his father's hat into the house. But 
he did not see him, and his mother looked so solemn that 
he did not ask her any questions. The boys did not meet 
their father until the dinner was served, and then they 
noticed an uncommon fervency in his speech at the table, 
and he spoke much longer than common. There was a 






sternness about his manner which forbade any conversa- 
tion, so the meal was eaten in silence. In order to escape 
the gloom that pervaded the house, Abe and Enoch 
remained out of doors most of the time during the balance 
of the day. 

(Begun in the July, 1906, number; to be continued) 

aftjftrin ^notu 

•ClVDWIN SNOW of Eaton died on the fifteenth day 
\P j of February, 1907, at the age of seventy years. 
He was born in Eaton on the fifteenth day of 
October, 1836. He was the youngest son of Joseph Snow 
and Sally Atkinson Snow and was one of eleven children. 
His parents were among the pioneer settlers of the town. 
His father came to Eaton from Gorham, Me., and was the 
grandson of Thomas Snow, by whom he was brought up 
and who formerly came from Cape Cod. His mother's 
father, John Atkinson, came from Wells, Me. He received 
his education in the town schools of Eaton and at the 
North Parsonsfield Academy. 

He opened a general store at Snowville in Eaton, in 
1856, in company with his brothers, whom he bought out in 
1859, from which time he continued the business without 
interruption until his death. From 1856 to 1898 he and 
his brothers operated a saw and grist-mill, and after 1898 
he continued the mill business individually. From 1870 
to 1876 he was a member of the firm of Snow and Brooks 
who were engaged extensively in buying and selling cattle 
through Maine and eastern New Hampshire. 

From 1856 he was engaged continuously in the manu- 
facture and marketing of lumber of all kinds. He began 
with modest capital and developed his business as his 
circumstances improved, gradually adding by purchase to 
his timber and wood lands. He was a pioneer in what is 
now recognized as scientific timber culture. He never 
cleared a lot of land of timber unless he needed it for tillage 


purposes, or was driven to do so because of forest fires. 
He carefully selected the large timber from his lands as it 
became fit for market, thus preserving unimpaired the 
character and value of his timber lands to the present time. 

Mr. Snow, for half a century, filled the position of 
country squire in his town, serving as justice of the peace, 
legal adviser and peace-maker among his fellow-citizens, and 
was in many ways the most prominent public figure in his 
town, being a moving spirit in all public improvements and 
highly respected for his business integrity. He possessed 
large executive ability and unusual business judgment, and 
won success by hard work and patient industry. 

Mr. Snow was a Democrat in politics and held all of 
the offices within the gift of his town. He was a member 
of the board of selectmen during the years of the Civil 
War and was chairman of the board for ten years after 
that time. He represented the town at four sessions of 
the legislature, serving on the railroad committee and on 
the judiciary committee. He was auditor for Carroll 
county from 1881 to 1886, and served as county commis- 
sioner from 1886 to 1 891. He was a member of the state 
senate in 1 889-1 890. He was appointed as a member of 
the state board of equalization in 1894, and served on that 
board continuously until his death. He was, in point of 
service, the oldest member of that board. His good judg- 
ment and practical common sense, combined with his 
knowledge of values and his large and intimate acquaint- 
ance throughout the state with both men and localities 
made him a valuable man on the board. 

In fraternal circles he was a Mason and an Odd Fellow. 

In 1857 he married Helen M., daughter of John W. 
and Caroline Nason Perkins, by whom he had four children, 
all of whom survive him: Mrs. Andrew J. White, Big 
Rapids, Mich., Mrs. L. W. Atkinson, Fryeburg, Me., Miss 
Bertha C. Snow of Eaton, and Leslie P. Snow, Esq., of 
Rochester, N. H. His wife died in 1899 anci m 1 9 02 ne 
was again married to Martha Jane Harmon, who survives 

B Cxebolutionarp 33rm <0one 

-g^ISING SUN INN, one of the oldest landmarks in the 
-If city, located at the junction of Germantown avenue 
and Old York road, and its old-fashioned stone barn 
are being demolished to make room for improvements. 
The workmen are reaping quite a harvest in addition to 
their wages by picking up old silver coins, and several Pine 
Tree shillings, pennies and half-pennies bearing the dates 
of 1 196 and 1798 have been found, as well as an old- 
fashioned tin lantern with its sides pierced with holes to 
allow the light to shine through. The inn was used alter- 
nately during the Revolutionary War by the British and 
American officers as headquarters. — Philadelphia Record. 


By Harold D. Carew 

The sun is low in the western sky, 

There is silence in the lonely dell ; 
The departing ray, as a last reply, 
Seems to whisper softly "All is well!" 
"All is well! All is well!" 
As a last reply in the western sky, 
Seems to whisper "All is well !" 

On the yonder hill a shepherd's voice 
Is heard as triumphantly he sings, 
"Rejoice! I have found my sheep! Rejoice !' 
And over the hill the echo it brings, 
''Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!" 
And over the hill the echo it brings. 
"Rejoice! I have found my sheep!" 


an historic J?ort 

NE of the most picturesque remains of the glories 
of New France, whose history and legends date 
back to the age of Frontenac and La Salle, is the 
old stone fort at Chambly, in the Province of Quebec 
The recent tablet on the ruins, with its motto, "Courage 
and Loyalty," in French, bears this inscription; "In the 
reign of Louis XIV. of France and Navarre, the Marquise 
de Vaudreuil being governor of New France, this fort was 
erected in 171 1, burned in 1776, restored by Guy Carleton 
in 1777, abandoned in 1847. It was repaired in 1822 in the 
reign of Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, the Marquis of 
Lome being Governor General of Canada," etc. 

A fact which the inscription kindly fails to record is 
that the burning referred to was by the American troops, 
who, having captured the fort in 1775, under General Mont- 
gomery, burned it the following year when they retreated 
to Lake Champlain. The various restorations have^been 
made skilfully to harmonize with the weather-beaten por- 
tions which resisted the fire more than a century ago. Its 
custodian, Joseph Dion, in face and manner, has something 
of a suggestion of the grand seigneurs of the age of Louis 
XIV. and the visitor of to-day who ascends the River 
Cbamblay or Richelieu in one of the small pleasure 
steamers will be well repaid for his visit to this lichen-cov- 
ered and historic monument of days to which history and 
romance now give a melancholy interest. 



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Vol. III. JUNE, 1907. No. 6. 

OBramte J>tate Utooftrees 


The Varney-Ham House 
By Lydia A. Stevens 

/f^^F THE Varney-Ham house at Garrison Hill 
^J ^ Dover, N. H., the present owner and occupant, 
Miss Maria Theresa Ham, says: "The Misses 
Bangs' paternal grandfather told me that his father repeat- 
edly declared it was built in 1680." 

In Dr. Quint's memoranda the following appears: 

"The Ham house at the foot of Garrison (Varney's) 
Hill is known to have been in existence in 1696, and some 
have a tradition that it was built in 1680, and was not 
attacked by the Indians on 28 June 1689, because Mr. 
Eben Varncy who built the house was a Quaker, and main- 
tained such friendly terms with the Indians that they did 
not molest his house or his family." 

A legend always attaches itself to an ancient object of 
human interest, and probably in this instance the popular 
story will outlast the house to which it clings. 

Sagamore Wahowah was the most malignant of Dover 
Indians. Tall, forbidding, cold, and incurious, nothing of 
savagery was lacking to the cruel chief. He had crouched 
in the grass before many a doomed habitation; his voice 
had added volume to the warwhoop sent in from the forest; 
crimson pools and foul fumes tainted the air where he had 
crawled; desolated dwellings held indelible blood- stains 



when he had finished his demoniacal work, and his toma- 
hawk and scalping-knife were frequently red-crusted with 
the blood of women and children. He lived on the shore 
of Back River, above the Three Creeks, and not far from 
the Pascataqua River. All the land from Exeter to Salmon 
Falls acknowledged him chief. 

He was killed in 1690 and buried on the point of land 
on the west side of Back River, before mentioned, which 
ever since has borne his name. This point is nearly oppo- 
site the famous Deacon John Hall spring, a little above, 
and can be seen from the trains as they pass. Strange to 
say, he never attacked or troubled the settlements on 
Dover Neck and Cocheco proper. He was one of the 
signers of a deed of land at Squanagonake to Peter Coffin, 
January 3, 1686. 

VVampa was the rose-amber-colored daughter of Wah- 
owah. Of the blood and temperament of a singularly 
sanguinary chief, she was a good woman in her time, 
attached to virtue, skillful in the arts of her race, and faith- 
ful to her gods. She was the wife of a young chief of the 
north country. In summer they lived on open ground, but 
in the winter chose a more sheltered spot on the margin of 
a wood, where it warmed to the sun. She had two chil- 
dren and for years lived in great happiness, frequently 
paddling her canoe up and down the rivers, or along the 
shores of ponds, in search of suitable bulrushes for mats 
or bark for her wigwam. Of the skins of wild beasts she 
fashioned garments for her husband, ornamenting his head- 
dress and sleeves with feathers and fringes of stained hair. 
On the clothing for her own shapely person she bestowed 
great care, decorating it with colored porcupine quills. 

Wampa's husband gradually increased in influence. 
He spoke and was listened to in council. This filled 
Wampa's heart with pride and joy. But when one winter's 
cold had covered the land with snow, a hostile tribe made 
an assault. In the battle that followed her husband fell. 
She fled, taking her children. After incredible hardship 



she neared her father's wigwam. Stopping at the Varney 
house for food, the good man's wife nursed her back to 
health and strength. Upon leaving, the Indian princess 
dropped her reserve. Failing on her knees, she buried her 
face in her benefactress' lap and burst into a paroxysm of 

At the Waldron massacre, Varney's house and family 
were spared. So it happened on that terrible June morn- 
ing following the tragedy, when a pall of smoke hung below 
the hill, and the noise of the saw was hushed, while the 
slain were unburied and the unhoused living who remained 
had found no shelter, the generous Quaker was able to 
care for the quick and the dead. 

Of the builder's personality we know little save that 
he was a Quaker, fairly well off, generous and hospitable, 
and friendly with the Indians. He comes down in tale and 
story shining with a halo of gentle patience and forbear- 
ance, in sharp contrast with the prevailing repression and 
quick correction of his day. His religious views precluded 
activity in public affairs, and he took no part in the social 
strife of the town. Quakers were considerably restricted 
and governed at all times in ancient Dover, but unlike the 
Quakers of a previous generation Varney seldom criticised 
those in authority, nor did he boldly torment and exasperate 
them in other ways. % To be sure, the dreadful penalties 
had become dead letters, and perhaps fading faith had fol- 
lowed the laxity of the law, but in his youth he might have 
been arrested without warrant and tried without jury for 
publicly asserting his religious belief. He was a good citi- 
zen and, though excluded and set apart, the acknowledged 
kindness of his disposition put him out of the reach of 

At the time Friend Varney determined to get out 
timber for a dwelling-house, ill-made and makeshift 
structures were not looked upon favorably. A builder 
expected to live in the house he built, and so could not 
escape considerable attention to substantial requirements. 


The rude admonitions of necessity made him thoughtful 
about positive permanent value, as well, as immediate con- 
venience and utility. He wanted to be walled in, roofed, 
tight, solid, and enduring. Nothing was done cheaply or 
slightly. There was no hurry. The house that he carried 
in his mmd had a primary aim. It was to house his family 
in a way suitable to the climate, and to be a lasting habita- 
tion for his children's children. He was somewhat circum- 
scribed All materials and styles were not open to him, 
but absence of professional advice helped him. He made 
his own plan and carried it in his head a good while, where 
it grew by expansions and accretions. Rules of construc- 
tion did not exist, but near the close of the seventeenth 
century the log house, dark, dirty and dismal, gave way in 
a measure to the frame house. 

So it was not Eben Varney's whim but his imperative 
wants that made him seek the largest and soundest timber. 
He chose an elevated and sightly location at the foot of 
the great hill, outlying and remote. For one who did not 
fear the Indians, there were sufficient reasons for this 
choice. Pasturage and nearness to good water and ample 
supply of firewood counted for a good deal. Richard Otis 
superintended the raising of the frame and, as there was a 
scarcity of experienced men in Dover, he sent to Ports- 
mouth for a husky lot of experts. The Quaker built to 
keep out wind, snow and rain, but there were no locks, 
bars, loopholes or bulging second story. 

Of an evening the house was finished; axe, saw and 
hammer were silent; stillness was all about. Even the 
settlement slept in the moonlight. No sound of life in the 
great sweep of the dusky hill and valley save the sound of 
water foaming over the fall below. The empty building 
stood like a burly sentinel guarding the northerly entrance 
to the town. But there the resemblance ended. It was 
simply a large, plain and undecorated dwelling, wholly 
undefended. Now it may be called an ugly house; then it 


was as expression of a good man's requirements, invested 
with the ministries of rest, of good will, of peace. 

And the old building has creditably met the expecta- 
tions of its designer and founder. It would seem as if 
time had no more than sered and stained it, and there had 
come only partial and qualified decay. Owing to its stead- 
fast strength, and the care-taking of six generations, it 
stands up firmly despite its frayed, shredded, sun-scorched, 
wind-torn, and frost-riven covering. 

The house that he built and lived in was a goodly resi- 
dence in its day. There is somewhat about it even now 
that has an influence upon the visitor, and inspires a real 
interest. Its homeliness has been consecrated; its doors 
have been the portals both of life and death. May be it is 
entitled to precedence among the old buildings of Dover on 
the score of antiquity. It is well preserved, and perhaps 
our only authentic example of domestic architecture belong- 
ing to a period removed from us by more than two and a 
quarter centuries. It is a link to connect the present with 
the eventful past, and the only abode in existence in any 
way connected with the massacre of June % 28, 1689, which 
still throw's its darksome shadow through the years. 

It has had an external ripening in the wind and sun for 
all the time since New Hampshire became a royal province. 
To-day the house brings no thought of old-time dominant 
religion, political doings, military movements, fine company, 
and it is not associated with great names. The outline, 
the material, the color and texture of the surface point to 
an age gone by. It looks all its oldness, but even now is 
suitable for common, every-day occupancy, and in the 
matter of wearing confesses no failure. Barring accident 
and intentional destruction, years will go by before it 
"trembles to its fall." Picturesqueness and well-being are 
predominating features to-day. From its perch under the 
brow of the great hill, it glanced down across fresh turf 
and cultivated acres to scattered buildings and stretches of 
vale, rolling country and sunless woodland. 


It is said that the women had a garden on the warm, 
southern side, full of roses and other bright and odorous 
blooms. Doubtless, along the trim flower borders walked 
impetuous town lads, seeking to woo the demure hill 
maidens. That anxious mothers watched and stern fathers 
frowned, there is no evidence, but we can safely assume 
such was the case. And it is fully as probable that the 
stout Varney boys yearned for the favor of girls who did 
not wear sad and sober-colored garments. Knowledge of 
such matters, and many more things that would be at least 
very interesting, unfortunately have been lost in the inter- 
vening years. Also, there is uncertainty as to whether 
Parson Pike, reported to be "a person of good learning, 
pleasant in conversation, and much mortified to the world," 
or his immediate successor, Nicholas Sever, who lived near 
the site of the "Dover Hotel," called on the good Quaker 
family. But, whatever the feelings of the townsmen may 
have been towards the quiet household, the original people 
of old Dover were friendly and well disposed. Painted 
Indians stalked over the grounds, and squaws couched on 
doorstep and floor. 

Time hastened on, the woods retreated, tillable acres 
stretched downward, wood-piles, hay-stacks and orchards 
increased, weddings occurred, the rough oak cradle rocked 
to lullaby tunes, and green turf grew over long and short 
graves. Colonial wars were waged, paths became thorough- 
fares, and the Revolution brought a wider sphere to man 
and a deeper responsibility to woman. Still the old house 
stood up to its task. Moss had fastened upon its shingles 
and the great beams sagged, but endurance yet remained. 
Now another century has been ticked off, and the mighty 
destroyer has left something beside ruin. 

Surely, the old wood-fashioners worked some of their 
own rude integrity into every unit of stay and support of 
the building. In each change of ownership it has unhesi- 
tatingly transferred its fidelity and allegiance from the old 
possessor to the new. The strange secrets, passions and 

£j±* '', 


foibles were just as securely taken into safe-keeping as had 
been the ones they displaced. It has acquired sensitive- 
ness. It is alive. One readily believes something of this 
sort in looking at it to-day. 

In solidity and in external appearance the house has 
undergone no important change. Within, it has not been 
restored, largely repaired or altered. There is nothing but 
what has a marked character of its own, some distinct trace 
from former circumstances, wholly in keeping with the 
promise of the exterior. The rooms are high-studded, but 
the windows are set irregularly. On the ground floor are 
seven apartments, and there are as many on the second 
floor. Hand-made naiis, wooden latchets and quaint hinges 
are still in evidence. In the process of ages the great 
area in acres has dwindled, but none save Varneys and 
Hams, and their descendants, have held title to the house 
and immediate grounds. Unfortunately, the chimney, a 
marvel in size and stability, was taken down some years 

The largest fireplace occupied more than half ihe 
length of the ample north room. When the death-drifts of 
winter made travel impossible, and the wind howled and 
dashed around the hill, and eddies of ashes whiffled over 
the floor, or in spring and fall when the heavens were gray 
with unfallen sleet and the rain flung itself in gusts on roof 
and window-pane, the snapping logs spoke heartily to 
beleaguered guests, and waved cheering signals to the sky. 
Peace and comfort brooded over the wide hearth, and the 
mantling flame shone on tiny shapes over which mothers 
watched and waited, and darkened to a flicker when death 
called for the score. 

By Allen Eastman Cross 

The great reservoir of New England lies in the forests which cover the 
White Mountains. Its forests make it valuable. When they are gone its 
value as a natural reservoir is destroyed, and its beauty to summer visitors 
will disappear. — Garden and Forest. 

The spoiler's foot is on thy soil, 

Switzerland, my Switzerland! 
He would thine highland grace despoil, 
And canst though not his purpose foil, 

Switzerland, my Switzerland? 

The charm of mountain woods is thine, 

Switzerland, my Switzerland! 
The solemn spruce the lonely pine 
That shroud our hills with grace divine 

Are God's and thine, my Switzerland! 

And dost thou now so tamely cower, 

Switzerland, my Switzerland! 
And hath this petty robber power, 
Though strong with all that gold can dower, 

To rob my people's Switzerland? » 

Then brand him robber, aye and worse, 

Switzerland, my Switzerland! 
Who dries the springs that rivers nurse 
Shall feel a people's bitter curse 

When streams are low in "Switzerland." 

O grand old State! they called thee well. 

Switzerland, our Switzerland; 
Yet future sons, that with thee dwell, 
Shall sadly of a beauty tell 

That once was thine, poor "Switzerland.'* 

Fair State, it must not be! Our hills, 

Switzerland, our Switzerland, 
Whose forests nurse our mountain rills, 
Whose beauty all the glad world fills, 

Must yet be spared to "Switzerland." 



Ouster Cttoer, ^oto ^urijam, $. %, 
in 1724 

By Lucien Thompson 

CjT N 1724 the settlement at Oyster River suffered from 
^i the Indians, who were the allies of the French in 
^^ the Three Years' War. 

Rev. Hugh Adams, in his church records of Oyster 
River, says: "On Friday the I st of May, 1724, our Worthy 
and Desirable Elder James Nock* was surprisingly Shott 
(off from his horse) Dead and Scalped by three Indian 
Enemies. O that CHRIST EMMANUEL may speedily 
Avenge his Blood upon them." "June 17, 1724, on 
Wednesday, It being our Preparation Lecture, Turned ino 
a Fast on Account of the Indian War, so severe on our 
Church by the sudden Death of our members that was 
slain the last Wednesday, Namely Moses Davis, Sen r , and 
his son Moses. And in the evening by the Indians was 
killed by a shott in his head Poor George Chesley and 
Elizabeth Burnum was wounded." 

It would appear from the above statement that George 
Chesley was killed and Miss Burnum wounded on Wednes- 
day, June 10, 1724, but evidently this was not the case, 
for Rev. Hugh Adams, in his baptisms, makes the follow- 
ing entry: 

"May 2J, 1724, Elizabeth Burnum, who was wounded 
by the Indians the 24 th the day George Chesley was killed, 
the evening before she died I baptized at her penitent 

*A muster roll of a scouting party, under James Nock, was allowed in December, 1723. 
(N. H. Prov. Papers Vol. IV, pages 67; 117; 357.) — Author. 



The historian Belknap states, "On a Sabbath day, they 
ambushed the road at Oyster river and killed George 
Chesley and mortally wounded Elizabeth Burnham, as they 
were returning from public worship." 

On the same Sabbath, May 24, 1724, "Sarah Hill, wife 
of Capt. Nathaniel Hill; Mary Jackson, Hannah Chesley, 
wife of Philip, (and) Hopeful Demerit" were admitted as 
church members, and the following persons were baptised: 
"Deny Pitman, Mary (Thompson) Stevens and her sister 
Hannah Tompson." 

The inventory of George Chesley's estate was made 
August 27, 1724, and if he was the George Chesley who 
built the Chesley garrison where the village schoolhouse 
now stands he must have been nearly fifty years of age. 
There is a family tradition that this George Chesley was 
killed by the Indians near the Durham meeting-house at 
Durham Point, while he was on his way to Crummit's mill. 
Rev. Hugh Adams says he was killed in the evening, and 
that Elizabeth Burnum was wounded the same day. 
George Chesley lived at Durham Falls, while Miss Burnum 
lived toward Durham Point, and they were probably not the 
parties who were slain by the Indians on Mast road. As 
the story goes, a young man by the name of Chesley was 
engaged to a young maiden by the name of Randall and 
lived in that part of Durham now Lee, and as they were 
returning through the woods from meeting, when they had 
reached a spot a few rods easterly of the present residence 
of Mr. John J. Bunker on Mast road they were slain by 
the Indians. At the nearest house where the Thompson 
family lived (where now resides Mrs. M. E. Wiggin), the 
shots were heard, and opening the door Thompson fired 
several shots in the air, which alarm caused the Indians to 
take to flight, and the bodies were discovered. The rock 
upon which the maiden fell was stained with her blood, and 
it is said the stain has never been effaced. Some years 
ago Lieut. S. Millett Thompson of Providence, R. I., 
obtained this large stone of Mr. Bunker and caused it to be 


hauled to the cemetery on Mast road, a short distance from 
the Durham-Lee boundary line, and Mr. Bunker informs 
the writer that Lieutenant Thompson agreed to have the 
stone properly inscribed. 

This legendary rock is referred to in a ballad, published 
December 30, 1823, in the New Hampshire Republican: 

Returning from devotion warm 

Through Durham's forests dark and rude, 

The pilgrims pass'd, nor thought of harm, 
To seek their homes of solitude. 

No sound was heard along the waste 

Save once the pine tree's lofty frame 
Received a hollow sounding blast, 

And in that blast a Demon came. 

The vengeful Indians lurking near, 

Soon felt his wrath-inspiring pow'r, 
They list the white man's step to hear, 

They laugh — it is his final hour. 

Their aim was deadly: from the dell 

The murd'rous death-shot whistling broke; 

A man, and lo! a maiden fell; — 

And thus the taunting Indian spoke: 

Go, son and daughter of that race 

Who of our tribes such havoc made; 
Go, and in other worlds appease 

The murder'd Indian hunters' shade. 

The trophies claimed by Indian rights 
Would glad our kindred when we meet. 

But, hush! they come — those hated whites — 
And we to darker wilds retreat. 

They come — the friends of those who bled 

One lifeless corpse extended lay; 
His gentle spirit thence had fled, 

By kindred spirits borne away. 

But she, the lovely and the young, 

Who had her deadly foes forgiven, 
Yet linger'd till her falt'ring tongue 

Had told her visions bright of Heaven. 


She fell upon the cold, hard stone. 

Yet not so hard as was the heart 
Could make such guiltless blood atone 

For deeds sprung from the warrior's art. 

That heart no conscious trace retain'd, 

To waken pity for the deed; 
But with her blood the rock was stain'd 

And still that rock is seen to bleed! 

Twice fifty winters' storms that beat 

Relentless on that sacred place, 
As many summers' ardent heat 

Cannot that stream of blood efface. 

The gentle, musing soul, with ear 

Accustomed to soft Pity's strain 
At twilight's fav'ring hour may hear 

In that lone spot a voice complain. 

It tells of those who cross'd the wave, 

And on these shores new perils shared; 
Of many a maid and matron's grave 

By War's unhallowed hand prepared. 

It speaks of lovers' bitter sighs, 

When not a swain was found foresworn; 

Of parents' grief, and children's cries, 
By savage force asunder torn. 

It plaintive names the untutor'd race, 
By strangers driv'n from that lov'd shore 

Where once they follow'd free the chase, 
A by-word now, and seen no more. 

In 1724, the Oyster River settlement being very much 
exposed, a scouting party under Abraham Bennick, or 
Bennett, marched back and forth for the protection of the 
settlement. On June 10, 1724, Moses Davis (a brother of 
Col. James Davis) and his son Moses went to a brook near 
their cornfield, where they were at work, and discovered 
three Indian packs. The alarm was instantly given to the 
scouting party, which they guided to the spot. The 
Indians from their ambush killed the father and son, where- 
upon the scouting party fired and killed one and wounded 


two others, who made their escape. The one who was 
slain was a son of Baron de St. Castine, who had married 
a daughter of the Indian chief. This young chief had 
been a pupil of Father Rasles, and wore a kind of coronet 
of scarlet dyed fur, with an appendage of four small bells, 
by the sound of which the others might follow him through 
the thickets. His hair was remarkably soft and fine and 
he had about him a devotional book and a muster-roll of 
one hundred and eighty Indians. He was killed by a 
negro slave of Moses Davis', and his scalp was presented 
to Lieutenant-Governor Wentworth in council by Robert 
Burnham, on June 12, 1724, and the promised bounty of 
one hundred pounds was paid to Captain Francis Mathews, 
in trust for the company, as shown by the Assembly 

"Robert Burnham was admitted into The Council 
Chamber, and presented an Ind n Scalp To the board, and 
made oath That it was a bona fide the Scalp of an Indian 
Slain two days before at Oyster river by a Party of Men 
under y e Command of M r Abraham Bennick & that he 
believed y e S'd Ind n was an Indian Enemy &c. Where- 
upon it was ordered That Pursuant To Act of Gen 1 Assem 1 
the Slayer be paid one hundred pounds out of the Treasury 
and that the Clerk forth w th prepare a warrant accordingly: 
the Said Sum being made payable To Cap 1 Francis 
Mathews* at y e request, and on the account of the S'd 
Slayers." — N.'H. Provincial Papers Vol. IV., page 140. 

The slave of Moses Davis, who had avenged his 
master's death, was buried at the feet of Love Davis, the 
daughter of Moses, and their graves are still pointed out 
on the Mill road, so called, a short distance from the 

*A muster roll of a scouting party led by Capt. Francis Mathews was allowed October 
26, 1722 (See N. Prov. Papers, Vol. IV, p. 66) ; and on the previous day the General Assem- 
bly made arrangements to provide snowshoes and moccasins at public charge, and they were 
to be placed in charge of the chief military officer of each town. At this period at Oyster 
River the chief military officer was Col. James Davis — A uthor. 


August 29, 1722, James Davis, Sam 1 Tibets and Tim. 
Gerrish (the representatives from Dover in the Assembly) 
petitioned the provincial authorities to be relieved from 
maintaining a grammar school during the Indian War, as it 
was the most exposed town in the province, "the houses 
being so scatterd over the whole Township that in No 
place six houses within call," The people did not dare to 
send their children to school so that no benefit was received 
and praying that the "S d Town of Dover (it then included 
Oyster River) may be Exempted from keeping a Gramar 
School During the war with the Indians, as formerly they 
were." Granted "provided they keep a Schoole for reading 
and writing & Arithmetic." — N. H. Prov. Papers, Vol. IX, 
page 155. 

before tfje J>torm 

By Adah Louise Sutton 

A livid sea, a lowering sky, 

A strip of leaden beach; 
The wreck of a boat flung high and dry, 
And a sad-colored bird with a desolate cry, 
Flitting away out of reach. 

A line of white on a sandy bar 

Where the fitful surf runs high; 
A pallid mist rising near and far, 
And the dream of a night without a star 
To enshroud it all bye and bye. 

Jfamous Sftips 


WOMAN fell off the dock in Italy. She was fat 
and frightened. No one of the crowd of men 
dared to jump in after her; but a boy struck the 
water almost as soon as she and managed to keep her up 
until stronger arms got hold of her. Everybody said the 
boy was very daring, very kind, very quick, but also very 
reckless, for he might have been drowned. The boy was 
Garibaldi, and, if you will read his life, you will find that 
those were his traits all through — that he was so alert 
nobody could tell when he would make an attack with his 
red-shirted soldiers, so indiscreet sometimes as to make his 
fellow patriots wish he was in Guinea, but he was so brave 
and magnanimous that all the world, except tyrants, loved 
to hear and talk about him. 

A boy used to crush the flowers to get their color, and 
painted the white side of his father's cottage in Tyrol with 
all sorts of pictures, which the mountaineer gazed at as 
wonderful. He was the great artist, Titian. 

An old painter watched a little fellow who amused 
himself making drawings of his pot and brushes, easel and 
stool, and said, "That boy will beat me some day." So he 
did, for he was Michael Angelo. 

A German boy was reading a blood-and-thunder novel. 
Right in the midst of it he said to himself: "Now, this will 
never do. I get too much excited over it, and I can't study 
so well after it. So here goes!" And he flung the book 
out into the river. He was Fitsche, the great German 


By Nettie Vernon 

The author of the following poem, reprinted by request, was Mrs. 
Mattie F. Jones of Merrimack, a popular contributor to the school readers 
of a few years since, as well as the literary papers and magazines, under 
her pen name. She was a teacher of marked ability and a woman loved 
and respected by a wide circle of friends. With her husband, Mr. James 
T. Jones, she taught school several years in California. — Editor. 

"I am outward bound," said a sailor boy; 
"I am outward bound; oh! life of joy! 

Come, go with me, o'er the foaming wave, 

And we'll laugh at fear tho' tempests rave." 

"I am outward bound," said a laughing child, 
While his face beamed mirth, his eye flashed wild! 

**I am outward bound — hurrah for glee! 
No thought of care shall burden me." 

"I am outward bound," said a youth of twelve; 
No longer o'er these books I'll delve; 
111 away to the land of promise fair, 
And it's golden fruits will offer share." 

"I am outward bound," said a full-grown man; 
"I have labored here to toil and plan — 
Tis all in vain! I'll engage in trade, 
Where an ample fortune is soonest made." 

I paused to reflect ere another should speak; 
And methought how vain, how trifling, how weak 
Were the hopes of happiness I had found, 
In the hearts of those who were "outward bound." 

"I am outward bound," said a pale young girl, 

As she gave a twist to a glossy curl; 
a I am bound to heaven, my home is above, 

I am outward bound from those I love." 

I looked again; she had passed away, 
And her friends stood mute round her pale, cold clay, 
I asked where are others who've echoed the sound 
With a smile or a sigh, "we are outward bound." 

The sailor lies sleeping far down 'neath the wave; 
The child, youth and man are low in the grave; 
And so will it be while the earth rolls round, 
In whatever state, we are "outward bound." 


By Thomas Bailey Aldrjch 

-g^ROM this elevation (the roof of the Athenaeum) 
*\\ the Navy-yard, the river with its bridges and 
^*\ islands, the clustered gables of Kittery and New- 
castle, and the illimitable ocean beyond make a picture 
worth climbing four or five flights of stairs to gaze upon. 
Glancing down on the town nestled in the foliage, it seems 
like a town dropped by chance in the midst of a forest. 
Among the prominent objects which lift themselves above 
the treetops are the belfries of the various churches, the 
white facade of the Custom-house, and the Mansard and 
chimneys of- the Rockingham, the leading hotel. The 
pilgrim will be surprised to find in Portsmouth one of the 
most elegantly appointed hotels in the United States. 
The antiquarian may lament the demolition of the old Bell 
Tavern, and think regretfully of the good cheer once fur- 
nished the wavfarer bv Master Stavers "at the sign of the 
Earl of Halifax," but the ordinary traveler will thank his 
stars, and confess that his lines have fallen in pleasant 
places, when he finds himself himself among the frescoes 
of the Rockingham. 

Speaking of public buildings, you will observe looming 
up on your left, among the green fields one or two miles 
away, a large structure of red brick. That is the alms- 
house, on the town farm. I call attention to it, not to com- 
pare its accommodations with those of the Rockingham, 
but in order to say that in Portsmouth was built probably 
the first pauper work-house ever erected in this or any 
other country. The building was occupied in 1716, though 
completed several years previous to that date. It was not 
until seven years later (1723) that an act was passed in 



England, authorizing the establishment of parish work- 

Obliquely opposite the doorstep of the Athenaeum — 
we are supposed to be on terra firma again — stands the Old 
North Church (orthodox), a substantial wooden building, 
handsomely set on what is called "'The Parade/' a large, 
open space formed by the junction of Congress, Market, 
Daniel and Pleasant Streets. Here in happier days, inno- 
cent of water-works, stood the town pump. 

The churches of Portsmouth are more remarkable for 
their number than for their architecture. With the excep- 
tion of the Stone Church (Unitarian) they are constructed 
of wood or plain brick in the simplest style. St. John's 
Church is the only one likely to attract the eye of a 
stranger. It is magnificently situated on the crest of 
Church Hill, overlooking the ever-beautiful river. The 
present edifice was built in 180S on the site of what was 
known as Queen's Chapel, erected in 1732, and destroyed 
by fire December 24, 1806. The chapel was named in 
honor of Queen Caroline, who furnished the books for the 
altar and pulpit, the plate and two elegant mahogany chairs, 
which are still in use in St. John's. Within the chancel 
rail is a curious marble font, taken by Colonel John Tufton 
Mason at the capture of Senegal from the French in 1758, 
and presented to the Episcopal Society in 1761. The pecu- 
liarly sweet-toned bell which calls the parishoners of St. 
John's together every Sabbath is, I believe, the same that 
formerly hung in the belfry of the old Queen's Chapel. If 
so, the bell has a history of its own. It u'as brought from 
Louisburg at the time of the reduction of that place in 
1745, and given to the church by the officers of the New 
Hampshire troops. 

An hour's walk from the Episcopal yard will bring you 
to the earliest cemetery in New Hampshire, where the first 
house was built and the first grave made, at Odiorne's 
Point. The exact site of the Manor is not known, but it is 
supposed to be a few rods north of an old well of flowing 


water at which theTonisons and the Hiltons and their com- 
rades slaked their thirst two hundred and fifty vears ago. 
Odiorne's Point is owned by Mr. Eben L. Odiorne, a lineal 
descendant of the worthy who held the property in 1657. 
Not far from the old spring is the resting-place of the 
earliest pioneers. 

"This first cemetery of the white man in New Hamp- 
shire occupies a space of perhaps one hundred feet by 
ninety, and is well walled in. The western side is now 
used as a burial-place for the family, but two-thirds of it is 
filled with perhaps forty graves, indicated by rough head 
and foot stones. Who there rest no one now living knows. 
But the same care is taken of their quiet beds as if they 
were of the proprietor's own family. In 163 1 Mason sent 
over about eighty emigrants, many of whom died in a few 
years, and here they were probably buried. Here, too, 
doubtless, rest the remains of several of those whose 
names stand conspicuous in our state records." 


When Washington visited Portsmouth in 1789 he was 
not deeply impressed by the architecture of the little town 
that had stood by him so nobly in the struggle for inde- 
pendence. "There are some good houses," he writes, 
"among which Colonel Langdon's may be esteemed the 
first; but in general they are indifferent, and almost entirely 
of wood. On wondering at this, as the country is full of 
stone and good clay for bricks, I was told that on account 
of the fogs and damp they deemed them wholesomer, and 
for that reason preferred wood buildings." 

The house of Colonel Langdon, on Pleasant Street, is 
still an excellent specimen of the solid and dignified abodes 
which our great-grandsires had the sense to build. The art 
of their construction seems to have been a lost art these 
fifty years. Here Governor John Langdon resided from 
1782, until the time of his death in 18 19 — a period during 
which many an illustrious man passed between those two 


white pillars that support the little balcony over the front- 
door, among the rest Louis Philippe and his brothers, and 
.the Marquis de Chastellux, a major-general in the French 
army, serving under the Count de Rochambeau, whom he 
accompanied from France to the States in 1780. The 
journal of the marquis contains this reference to his 
host: ''After dinner we went to drink tea with Mr. Lang- 
don. He is a handsome man, and of noble carriage; he 
has been a member of Congress, and is now one of the 
first people of the country; his house is elegant and well 
furnished, and the apartments admirably well wainscoted" 
(this reads like Mr. Samuel Pepys): "and he has a good 
manuscript chart of the harbor of Portsmouth. Mrs. 
Langdon, his wife, is young, fair, and tolerably handsome, 
but I conversed less with her than with her husband, in 
whose favor I was prejudiced from knowing that he had 
displayed great courage and patriotism at the time of Bur- 
goyne's expedition." 

It was at the height of the French Revolution that the 
three sons of the Due d'Orleans were entertained at the 
Langdon Mansion. Years afterward, when Louis Philippe 
was on the throne of France, he inquired of a Portsmouth 
lady presented at his court if the old mansion of Governor 
Langdon was still in existence. 

The house stands back a decorous distance from the 
street, under the shadows of some gigantic oaks or elms, 
and presents an imposing appearance as you approach it 
over the tassellated marble walk. A hundred or two feet 
on either side of the gate, and abutting on the street, is a 
small, square building of brick, one story in height — prob- 
ably the porter's lodge and tool-house of former days. 
There is a large fruit garden attached to the house, which 
is in excellent condition, taking life comfortably, and having 
the complacent air of a well-preserved beau of the ancien 
regime. The Langdon Mansion was owned and long occu- 
pied by the late Rev. Dr. Burroughs, for a period of forty- 
seven years the esteemed rector of St. John's Church. 

• J 



On the corner of Daniel and Chapel Streets stands 
the oldest brick building in Portsmouth — the Warner 
House, It was built in i/iS by Captain Archibald Mac- 
pheadris, a Scotchman, as his name indicates, a wealthy 
merchant, and a member of the King's Council. He was 
the chief projector of the first iron-works established in 
America. Captain Macpheadris married Sarah Went- 
worth, one of the sixteen children of Governor John 
Wentworth, and died in 1729, leaving a daughter, Mary, 
whose portrait, with that of her mother, painted by the 



r 1 rV 




ubiquitous Copley, still hangs in one of the parlors of this 
house, which, oddly enough, is not known by the name of 
Captain Macpheadris, but by that of his son-in-law, Hon. 
Jonathan Warner, a member of the King's Council, until 
the revolt of the colonies. "We well recollect Mr. 
Warner," says Mr. Brewster, "as one of the last of the 
cocked hats. As in a vision of early childhood he is still 
before us, in all the dignity of the aristocratic crown offi- 
cers. That broad-backed, long-skirted brown coat, those 
small-clothes and silk stockings, those silver buckles, and 
that cane — we see them still, although the life that filled 
and moved them ceased half a century ago." 


The Warner House, a three-story building with gambrel 
roof and luthren windows, is as fine and substantial a 
sample of the architecture of the period as you are likely 
to meet with anywhere in New England. The eighteen-., 
inch walls are of brick brought from Holland, as were also 
many of the materials used in the building — the hearth- 
stones, tiles, etc. Hewn stone under-pinings were seldom 
adopted in those days; brickwork rests directly upon the 
solid walls of the cellar. The interior is rich in paneling 
and wood carvings about the mantel shelves, the deep-set 
windows, and along the cornices. The halls are wide and 
deep, after a gone-by fashion, with handsome staircases, set 
at a easy angle, and not standing nearly upright, like those 
ladders by which one reaches the upper chambers of a 
modern house. The principal rooms are paneled to the 
ceiling and have large, open chimney-places, adorned with 
the quaintest of Dutch tiles. In one of the parlors of the 
Warner House there is a choice store of family relics — 
china, silver plate, costumes, old clocks, and the like. 
There are some interesting paintings too' — not by Copley 
this time. On a broad space each side of the hall windows, 
at the head of the staircase, are pictures of two Indians, 
life size. They are probably portraits of some of the 
numerous chiefs with whom Captain Macpheadris had deal- 
ings, for the captain was engaged in the fur as well as the 
iron business. Some enormous elk antlers, presented by 
Macpheadris by his red friends, are still hanging in the 
lower hall. 

By mere chance, fifteen or twenty years ago, some 
long-hidden paintings on the walls of this lower hall were 
brought to light. In repairing the front entry it became 
necessary to remove the paper, of which four or five layers 
had accumulated. At one place, where the several coats 
had peeled off cleanly, a horse's hoof was observed by a 
little girl of the family. The workman then began remov- 
ing the paper carefully; first the legs, then the body of a 
horse with a rider were revealed, and the astonished paper- 


hanger presently stood before a life-size representation of 
Governor Phipps on his charger. The workman called 
other persons to his assistance, and the remaining portions 
of the wall were speedily stripped, laying bare four or five 
hundred square feet covered with sketches in color, land- 
scapes, views of distant cities, figure-pieces, Biblical scenes 
— Abraham offering up Isaac — a lady at a spinning-wheel, 
etc. Until then no person in the land of the living had 
had any knowledge of those hidden pictures. An old 
dame of eighty, who had visited at the house intimately 
ever since her childhood, all but refused to believe her spec- 
tacles when brought face to face with the frescoes. 

The place is full of odds and ends calculated to craze 
a bric-a-brac hunter, but there is nothing more curious than 
these incongruous paintings, evidently the work of a clever 
hand. Even the outside of the old edifice is not without 
its attraction for an antiquarian. The lightning-rod which 
protects the Warner House to-day was put up under the 
personal supervision of Benjamin Franklin in 1762, and is 
supposed to be the first rod put up in New Hampshire. 

The old hotel — now a very unsavory tenement-house- 
was built by John Stavers, inn-keeper, in 1770, who planted 
in front of the door a tall post, from which swung the sign of 
"The Earl of Halifax." Stavers had previously kept an 
inn of the same name on Queen, now State, Street. 

It is a square, three-story building, shabby and dejected, 
giving no hint of the really important historical associations 
that cluster about it. At the time of its erection it was no 
doubt considered a rather grand structure, for buildings of 
three stories were rare in Portsmouth. Even in 1798, of 
the six hundred and twenty-six dwelling-houses of which 
the town boasted, eighty-six were of one story, five hun- 
dred and twenty-four were of two stories, and only sixteen 
of three stories. It has the regulation gambrel roof, but 
is lacking in those wood ornaments which are usually seen 
over the doors and windows of the more prominent houses 
of that epoch. It was, however, the hotel of the period. 


That same worn doorstep upon which Mr. O'Shaugh- 
nessy now stretches himself of a summer afternoon, with 
a short clay pipe stuck between his lips, and his hat 
crushed down on his brows, revolving the sad vicissitude of 
things (made very much sadder by drink) — that same door- 
step has been pressed by the feet of generals and marquises 
and grave dignitaries upon whom depended the destiny of 
the States — 3fficers in gold lace and scarlet cloth, and high- 
heeled belles in patch and powder. At this door the "Fly- 
ing Stage-Coach," from Boston, once a week set down its 
lo id of passengers — and distinguished passengers they 

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often were. Most of the chief celebrities of the land, 
before and after the secession of the colonies, have been 
guests of Master Stavers, at the sign of the Earl of 

While the storm was brewing between the colonies and 
the mother country it was in a back room in the old tavern 
that the adherents of the crown met to discuss matters. 
The landlord himself was a loyalist, and when the full cloud 
was on the eve of breaking he had an early intimation of 
the coming tornado. The Sons of Liberty had long 
watched with sullen eyes the secret sessions of the Tories in 
Master Stavers' tavern, and one morning the patriots 
quietly began cutting down the post which supported the 


obnoxious emblem. Mr. Stavers, who seems not to have 
been belegerent himself, but the cause of belligerence in 
others, sent out his black slave with orders to stop proceed- 
ings. The negro, who was armed with an axe, struck but 
a single blow and disappeared. This blow fell upon the 
head of Mark Noble; it did not kill him, but left him an 
insane man till the day of his death, forty years afterward. 
A furious mob at once collected, and made an attack on 
the tavern, bursting in the doors and shattering every pane 
of glass in the windows. It was only through the inter- 
vention of Captain John Langdon, a warm and popular 
patriot, that the hotel was saved from destruction. 

Master Stavers in the mean while had escaped through 
the stables in the rear. He fled to Stratham, where he was 
given refuge by his friend William Pottle, who had supplied 
the hotel with ale. The excitement blew over after a time, 
and Stavers was induced to return to Portsmouth. He was 
seized by the Committee of Safety, and lodged in Exeter 
jail, when his loyalty, which had really never been very 
high, went down below zero; he took the oath of allegiance, 
and shortly after his release reopened the hotel. The 
honest face of William Pitt appeared on the repentant sign, 
vice the Earl of Halifax, ignominiously discharged, and 
Stavers was himself again. 

From that period, until I do not know what year, the 
Stavers House prospered. It was at the sign of the William 
Pitt that the officers of the French fleet boarded in 1782, 
and hither came the Marquis Lafayette, all the way from 
Providence, to visit them John Hancock, Elbridge Gerry, 
Rutledge, and other signers of the Declaration sojourned 
here at various times. It was here General Knox — "that 
stalwart man, two officers in size and three in lungs" — was 
wont to order his dinner, and in a stentorian voice compli- 
ment Master Stavers on the excellence of his larder. One 
day — it was at the time of the French Revolution — Louis 
Philippe and his two brothers applied at the door of the 
William Pitt for lodgings; but the tavern was full, and the 


future king, with his companions, found comfortable quar- 
ters under the hospitable roof of Governor Langdon in 
Pleasant Street. 

A record of the scenes, tragic and humorous, that have 
been enacted within this old yellow house on the corner 
would fill a volume. A vivid picture of the social and 
public life of the old time might be painted by a skillful 
hand, using the two Earl of Halifax inns for a background. 
The painter would find gay and sombre colors ready mixed 
for his palette, and a hundred romantic incidents waiting 
for his canvas. One of these romantic episodes has been 
turned to very pretty account by Longfellow in the last 
series of "The Tales of a Wayside Inn" — the marriage of 
Governor Benning Went worth with Martha Hilton, a sort 
of second edition of King Cophetua and the Beggar 

Martha Hilton was a poor girl, whose bare feet and ankles 
and scant drapery when she was a child, and even after she 
was well in the bloom of her teens, used to scandalize good 
Dame Stavers, the inn-keeper's wife. Standing one after- 
noon in the doorway of the Earl of Halifax, Dame Stavers 
took occasion to remonstrate with the sleek-limbed and 
lightly draped Martha, who chanced to be passing the 
tavern, carrying a pail of water, in which, as the poet 
neatly says, "the shifting sunbeams danced." 

"You Pat! You Pat!" cried Mrs. Stavers severely, 
"why do you go looking so? You should be ashamed to be 
seen in the street." 

"Never mind how I look," says Miss Martha, with a 
merry laugh, letting slip a saucy brown shoulder out of 
her dress. "I shall ride in my chariot yet, ma'am." 

Fortunate prophecy! Martha went to live as servant 
with Governor Wentworth at his mansion at Little Harbor, 
looking out to sea. Several years passed, and the "thin 
slip of a girl," who promised to be no great beauty, had 
flowered into the loveliest of women, with a lip like a 
cherry and a cheek like a rose — a lady by instinct, one of 


Nature's own ladies. The governor, a lonely widower, and 
not too young, fell in love with his fair handmaid. With- 
out stating his purpose to any one, Governor Wentworth 
invited a number of friends (among others the Rev. Arthur 
Brown) to dine with him at Little Harbor on his birthday. 
After the dinner, which was a very elaborate one, was at 
at an end, and the guests were discussing their tobacco- 
pipes, Martha Hilton glided into the room, and stood blush- 
ing in front of the chimney-place. She was exquisitely 
dressed as you may conceive, and wore her hair three 
stories high. The guests stared at each other, and partic- 
ularly at her, and wondered. Then the governor, rising 
from his seat, 

"Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, 
And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown; 
'This is my birthday; it shall likewise be 
My wedding day; and you shall marry me!' " 

The rector was dumfounded, knowing the humble 
footing Martha had held in the house, and could think of 
nothing cleverer to say than, "To whom, your excellency?" 

"To this lady," replied the governor, taking Martha 
Hilton by the hand. The Rev. Arthur Brown hesitated. 
"As the Chief Magistrate of New Hampshire I command 
you to marry me!" cried the firm old governor. 

And so it was done; and so the pretty kitchen-maid 
became Lady Wentworth, and did ride in her own chariot, 
after all. She wasn't a woman if she didn't drive by 
Stavers' hotel. 

Lady Wentworth had a keen appreciation of the 
dignity of her new station, and became a grand lady at 
once. A few days after her marriage, dropping her ring 
on the floor, she languidly ordered her servant to pick it up. 
The servant, who appears to have had a fair sense of humor, 
grew suddenly near-sighted, and was unable to find the ring 
until Lady Wentworth stooped and placed her ladyship's 
finger upon it. She turned out a faultless wife, however; 
and Governor Wentworth at his death, which occurred in 


1770, signified his approval of her by leaving her his entire 
estate. She married again without changing name, accept- 
ing the hand, and what there was of the heart, of Michael 
Wentworth, a retired colonel cf the British Army, who 
came to this country in 1767. Colonel Wentworth (not 
connected, I believe, with the Portsmouth branch of Went- 
worths) seems to have been of a convivial turn of mind. 
He shortly dissipated his wife's fortune in high Irving, and 
died abruptly in New York — it is supposed by his own 
hand. His last words — quite a unique contribution to the 
literature of last words — were, "I have had my cake, and 
ate it,'' which shows that the colonel, in his own peculiar line, 
was a finished philosopher. 

The seat of Governor Wentworth at Little Harbor — 
a pleasant walk from Market Square — is well worth a visit. 
Time and change have laid their hands more lightly on this 
rambling old pile than on any other of the old homes in 
Portsmouth. When you cross the threshold of the door 
you step into the colonial period. Here the Past seems to 
have halted courteously, waiting for you to catch up with 
it. Inside and outside the Wentworth Mansion remains 
nearly as the old governor left it; and though it is no longer 
in the possession of the family, the present owners, in their 
willingness to gratify the decent curiosity of strangers, 
show a hospitality which has always characterized the 

The house is an architectural freak. The main build- 
ing — if it is the main building — is generally two stories in 
height, with irregular wings forming three sides of a square 
which opens on the water, It is, in brief, a cluster of 
whimsical extensions that look as if they had been built at 
different periods, which I believe was not the case. The 
mansion was completed in 1750. It originally contained 
fifty-two rooms; a portion of the structure was removed 
twenty or twenty-five years since, leaving at present forty- 
five apartments. The chambers were connected in the 
oddest manner, by unexpected steps leading up or down, 


and capricious little passages that seem to have been the 
unhappy afterthoughts of the architect. But it is a man- 
sion on a grand scale, and with a grand air. The cellar was 
arranged for the stabling of a troop of thirty horse in times 
of danger. 

The council-chamber, where for many years all ques- 
tions of vital importance to the state were discussed, in a 
spacious, high-studded room, finished in the richest style of 
the last century. It is said that the ornamentation of the 
huge mantel, carved with knife and chisel, cost the work- 
man a year's constant labor. At the entrance of the coun- 
cil-chamber are still the racks for the twelve muskets of 
the governor's guard — so long ago dismissed. 

Opening also on the council-chamber are several tiny 
apartments, empty and silent now, in which many a close 
rubber has been played by illustrious hands. The stillness 
and loneliness of the old house seem saddest here. The 
jeweled fingers are dust, the merry laughs have turned 
themselves into silent, sorrowful phantoms, stealing from 
chamber to chamber. It is easy to believe in the traditional 
ghost that haunts the place — 

"A jolly place in times of old, 
But something ails it now!" 

The mansion at Little Harbor is not the only notable 
house that bears the name of Wentworth. On Pleasant 
Street, at the head of Washington Street, stands the 
former residence of another colonial worthy, Governor John 
Wentworth, who went into office in 1767, and went out at 
the time of the Revolution. He was a royalist of the most 
decided stripe. In 1775 a man named Fenton, who had 
become offensive to the patriots, was given shelter in this 
by the governor, who refused to deliver the fugitive to the 
people. The mob planted a field-piece (unloaded) in front 
of the doorstep, and threatened to fire if Fenton were not 
forth-coming. The family vacated the premises and the 
mob entered, doing considerable damage. The broken 


marble chimney-piece is preserved in its place, mutely pro- 
testing against the outrage. Shortly after this event Gov- 
ernor Wentworth retired to England. He was Governor 
of Nova Scotia from 1792 to 1800, and died in Halifax in 
1820. This is one of the handsomest old dwellings in 
town, and promises to outlast many of its newest neigh- 
bors. The parlor presents the same aspect it wore when 
the populace rushed into it nearly a century ago; the plush 
on the walls has not faded, and all the furniture and decora- 
tions have been kept in their original positions, and pre- 
served with scrupulous care. In the hall — deep enough for 
the duel that is always fought in halls in baronial novels — 
are full-length portraits of the governor and others of the 

There is still a third Wentworth House, also once 
occupied by a colonial governor — there were three Gov- 
ernors Wentworth — but that, and a hundred other relics of 
the past, must remain unmentioned. 

The points of interest in and about Portsmouth are 
innumerable. I have accomplished my end if I have suc- 
ceeded in intimating this to the reader. The beaches at 
Rye and Hampton, and the summer resorts inland, annually 
draw thousands of persons to the neighborhood; for the 
most part they regard Portsmouth as the place where they 
purchase their ticket to Boston, or take passage on the 
little steamer for the Shoals. Yet many of them have 
crossed the Atlantic, and suffered the hardships and fatigue 
of foreign land travel, in order to visit localities that can 
not possibly possess for an American one-half the interest 
of this Old Town by the Sea. 

Cfje Jfatfjer of American HrttUerp 

By Mary L. D. Ferris 

aMERICA, it is asserted, began her Revolution with 
but ten pieces of cannon. It was Major-General 
Richard Gridney, a distinguished soldier, whose 
mechanical science and ingenuity made possible the first 
cannon and mortars ever cast in this country. 

Gridney was born in Boston, in 171 1. He acquired a 
great reputation as an artillerist, and was chief engineer in 
the reduction of Louisburg in 1745. He was engaged in 
the expedition against Crown Point and planned the fortifi- 
cation around Lake George. For his services at the cap- 
ture of Quebec, the British government gave him Magdalen 
Island with half pay, which was continued to him during 
his life. In 1775 he espoused the Patriot cause with great 
fervor, and was appointed chief engineer and commnnder 
of the artillery of the Continental Army. He it was who 
so skillfully laid out the works on Bunker Hill the night 
before the battle of June 17, 1775. Though then sixty- 
five years old, he was exposed to the severest fire of the 
enemy during the whole engagement, and late in the day 
was wounded by a musket ball in the thigh. His furnace 
was for a long time employed by congress, under his direc- 
tion, casting cannon for the use of the army. In February, 
1776, he was at Mashapog pond, with a number of men, 
proving some mortars which were afterwards placed on 
Dorchester Heights, and a year later congress empowered 
Robert Treat Paine to contract with him for forty-eight 
howitzers to be sent to Ticonderoga. 

On May 30, 1 877, a monument was dedicated to him at 
Canton, Mass. 

There have been at least two Gridneys whose lives are 
bound up with their country's history. 


Cfje 2£rabe Commobore 

By J. C. N. 

The following lines were written on board the Constitution by one of 
her officers over fifty years ago. The frigate was homeward bound, but 
when within three hundred miles of her port of entry, Portsmouth, N. H,, 
her commander received some American papers, recounting the Cuban 
difficulties, and the prospect of a war with Spain, whereupon he immedi- 
ately bore away for the Gulf, and all the preparations incidental to getting 
a man-of-war ready for action were made without delay, as detailed in the 
poem. The frigate was off Cuba on the 1st of May — the night of the 
eclipse. The non-nautical reader is reminded that the "bulk-heads" 
referred to are equivalent to the interior walls and partitions of a house on 

The stars and stripes are floating 

Around green Cuba's wave! 
The fife and drum are beating 

To quarters all the brave! 
The Frigate Constitution 

Is on the sea again, 
All cleared for dreadful action, 

Upon the bloody main! 

Our martial band is playing 

Our Hail Columbia hymn! 
The earth its shadow throwing 

Upon the moon, 'tis dim! 
And blood red is their color, 

And doomed is their estate; 
And terrible their dolor, 

Who tempt the just and great! 

Our commodore has taken 

His cabin bulk-heads down; 
He's like an eagle flying, 

Through heavens of renown! 
Our fathers sailed the ocean, 

To fight in freedom's might! 
The world is in commotion, 

And we are armed for right — 
The Lord of Hosts is with his saints 

In every holy fight! 


General ^uEiban anb ^ts Nearest 
<®f f tcers 

From Notes by David Craft 

The following brief sketches give one a clear idea of General Sullivan 
and his staff at the time of his memorable expedition into the heart of 
the Iroquois nation in 1779. — Editor. 



man of robust form, tendingto corpulence, whose 
dark gray eyes were as piercing as an eagle's, 
whose swarthy complexion was made a still deeper brown 
by constant exposure to storm and wind and the August 
sun, and whose hair, black as a raven's wing, fell in thickly 
clustered locks upon his shoulders — a man whose mein and 
bearing was every whit a soldier. He was born in Dover, 
N. H., in 1 741, and at the time of his famous campaign was 
thirty-eight years of age. He had acquired a good educa- 
tion under the direction of his father, who was a school 
teacher, and commenced the practice of law at Durham, 
N. H., which continued to be his place of residence until 
his death. In 1772 he was major of the New Hampshire 
regiment. In 1774-75 he was delegate to congress, and by 
that body was appointed major-general in July, 1776. His 
courage, bravery and skill were unquestioned. He enjoyed 
the confidence of Washington and compatriots. His con- 
duct in this expedition was the subject of severe criticism 
in certain circles and characterized as vandal and unmilitary. 
His usual practice of firing a morning and evening gun, his 
destruction of the houses and orchards of the enemy, were 
declared to be unwise and unsoldierly. Sullivan bore these 
criticisms in patience and for the most part in silence, and 
such was his love for Washington that never did he allude 



to the fact, in his own defense, that in those things for 
which he was blamed, he was acting under the express 
direction of the commander-in-chief, preferring rather him- 
self to suffer in silence than that his beloved Washington 
should suffer reproach. Owing to exposure in this expedi- 
tion, and the derangement of his business growing out of 
his prolonged absence in the camp, he asked leave to retire 
from the army at the close of the campaign. But his sub- 
sequent life was spent largely in public business. In 1780 
and 1 78 1 he was a delegate to congress. In 1782 he was 
appointed attorney-general and re-appointed on the adop- 
tion of the new Constitution in 1784. In 1786 and 1787 he 
was president of the senate. In 178S he was speaker of 
the house of representatives of New Hampshire, and presi- 
dent of the convention which ratified the Constitution of 
the United States. In 1789 he was the presidential elector 
and voted for Washington, and in March of the same year 
he was elected president of the senate for the third time. 
In 1789 he was appointed by Washington judge of the dis- 
trict court in New Hampshire, which office he held until 
his death, January 23, 1795, at the age of fifty-four, one of 
New Hampshire's honored sons, at the mention of whose 
name we at this day uncover our heads with reverence. 

Near by his commander, in the second order of rank, 
owing to the position of his brigade, was one of his officers, 
the last to arrive at the council. Dignified, thoughtful, 
earnest, brave, with a mind of broad grasp and a will reso- 
lute to execute, he readily seconded the plan of Sullivan, 
and was ready to carry out his part in the work. 

Brigadier-General James Clifton, the brother of one 
governor and the father of another, was a name intimately 
blended with the civil and military history of New York. 
Born in Ulster county, N. Y., he was in age three years 
the senior of his commander. With the rank of colonel, 
he was with Montgomery in the invasion of Canada. In 
1777 he was promoted to brigadier-general, and held various 
important commands prior to the expedition. After the 


war he held several civil positions, and died in Orange 
county, N. Y., greatly beloved and honored, in December, 
1812, at the age of seventy-four. 

The next in order of rank was Brigadier-General Wil- 
liam Maxwell, commandant of the Jersey line, a gentleman 
of refinement and an officer of his;h character. Cf his 
personal history but little is known. It is believed he was 
born in Ireland, but at an early age was brought by his 
parents to New Jersey. When quite young he entered the 
military service, and at the breaking out of the Revolu- 
tionary War was made colonel of the Second Battalion of 
the First Establishment, was with Montgomery in his 
Canada campaign, promoted to brigadier-general in Octo- 
ber, 1776, and commanded the Jersey Brigade in the battles 
of Brandywine and Germantown, and, indeed, all the 
battles in which the Jersey Brigade was engaged, until he 
resigned his commission, July, 1780. He died in Novem- 
ber, 1798. 

The commander of the right wing of the army was 
Brigadier-General Enoch Poor of Exeter, N. H., who in 
early life had been a successful shipbuilder, became con- 
nected with the Third New Hampshire, or Scammel's, 
Regiment, and on the appointment of Scammel to be adju- 
tant-general of the army, was put in command of the regi- 
ment, and promoted to a brigadier in 1777. After his sur- 
vice with Sullivan on this campaign, and at the request of 
La Fayette, Poor was appointed to the command of a 
brigade of light troops under that general, and it has been 
mentioned as no small tribute to his memory that the 
marquis, on his second visit to this country, at a public 
entertainment should have proposed the sentiment, "The 
memory of Light Infantry Poor and Yorktown Scammel." 
At Hackensack, N. J., he was killed, September 8, 1781, 
.in a duel with a French officer, but so great was his popu- 
larity with the troops that a rupture was feared if the truth 
were known; it was therefore currently reported that he 


died of bilious fever. He was in the forty-third year of 
his age. 

Brigadier-General Edward Hand, though the youngest 
of the brigadiers, held the most important position in the 
command next to Sullivan himself. Born in Ireland the 
last day of 1744, he entered the British army as ensign, 
served for two years in his regiment, then resigned and 
settled in Pennsylvania. At the beginning of the Revo- 
lution he entered the continental service as lieutenant- 
colonel, but was made colonel of a rifle corps in 1776, and 
was in the battle of Long Island and Trenton, and in the 
summer and fall of 1777 was in command at Pittsburg* 
where he acquired such a knowledge of the Indian country 
and their modes of warfare as made his services indispen- 
sable to the expedition. Washington placed great confi- 
dence in his judgment, and consulted him freely in regard 
to the feasibility of the enterprise. In 1780 he succeeded 
Scammel as adjutant-general of the army and held the 
position until the close of the war. He was known as a 
lover of fine horses and was an excellent horseman. He 
died in Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, September 3, 1802, 
aged fifty-eight years. 

Colonel Thomas Proctor of the Artillery, whose 
stalwart person must have been conspicuous in the group, 
was doubtless invited to the consultation. He, too, was 
born in Ireland, but in early life came to Philadelphia, where 
he worked at the carpenter's trade until the beginning of 
the war, when he raised a company, was commissioned 
captain, and was soon promoted to colonel. He was a man 
of great executive ability, and was frequently serviceable 
to the government in other than military capacity. In 
1791 he was sent on a mission to the western Indians, 
which he performed to the satisfaction of the government. 
He died in March, 1806. 

A Plain Tale of Piain People, Some of Whom You May Have 
Known, All of Whom Lived a Third of a Century Ago 

By George Waldo Browne 

[Copyright. 1906, by the Author] 
What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue! — Burke. 



"The issues of life to be 

We weave with colors all our own, 
And in the field of destiny 
We reap as we have sown." 

EACON GOODWILL was astir early on Monday 
morning, and immediately after breakfast he 
ordered that Bet should be harnessed into the best 
wagon and brought to the door. Abe did as he was told 
without daring to ask any questions, but there were tears 
in his eyes as he led the faithful mare down to the door. 
In solemn silence the deacon took his seat in the wagon, 
and picking up the reins, which Abe in his trepidation for- 
got to hand him, drove grimly down the road. Without 
stopping to watch him off as usual, Abe ran into the house, 
to find his mother standing at one of the windows looking 
after her departing husband with ill-concealed agitation. 
"Oh, mother! what does father mean to do with Bet?" 
"Your father is terribly worked up over what happened 
yesterday and, though he has not exactly said so, I am 



very sure he has gone away to sell her. It may be he 
hopes to find the man who wanted to buy her last month." 

"Oh, mother! what shall I do? If he sells Bet now it 
will spoil all I have done!" cried Abe, regardless of the 
secret he was giving away, for he had been careful not to 
let his mother know of the plot he was trying to carry out. 
"She was not to blame that he made that race yesterday." 

"Not in the proper sense, my son, but the fact remains 
that it was made, and it was an awful affair for your father 
to be mixed up in. But what do you mean by what you 
have done?" 

Abe turned very red in the face, and he did not know 
what to say. Seeing his confusion his mother began to 
question him until he felt obliged to confess the truth, 
she listening to his explanation in silent surprise, saying 
when he had finished: 

"I did not dream of this, Abraham. I am sorry you 
have gone as far as you have. You can see the trouble it 
has already made your father, and I am sure you will get 
into trouble before you get through. I cannot think of my 
son as a jockey and a horse racer." 

"But, mother, it is only for this once, and there is no 
betting. Uncle Life Story says there is no harm in match- 
ing horses. I want the money so much, so I can go to the 

"I know you do my son, but the best of motives 
become surrounded with evil when we resort to question- 
able means to gain our ends. Your father is able to pay 
your tuition at the academy if he chooses." 

"But he does not choose to, mother, and yaou knaow 
he will not do it. Yaou mustn't tell him of this plan of 
mine to make money." 

"Not in his present state of mind. I do not know 
what to do. It seems so strange and is so unexpected. I 
hope I am not doing wrong in keeping this away from your 
father, and I hope you will drop the matter now. No good 
can come of it and the risk is great. I hope your father 


will find a buyer for Bet before he comes back." 

"Most likely he will if he finds Mr. Johnson or Jock 
Jenness," replied Abe with a look of despair. "Either of 
them will jump at the chance to buy her. I wish I could 
see Squire Newbegin." 

As his mother offered no reply to this, Abe slowly left 
the house, feeling miserable and not knowing what to do. 
In the midst of his unhappiness the town claimants, who 
had remained in their room all the morning, now approached 
him, Free Newbegin asking in regard to the cause of his 
dejection, when Abe very frankly explained the whole situ- 
ation. After laughing heartily at the account of the Sun- 
day race, Free said: 

m "It cannot be possible your father will sell the mare. 
You seem to forget that she is my property. Did I not 
bargain squarely for her on the morning that man Johnson 
came here to buy her? I was to pay two hundred dollars 
for her, was I not?" 

"That's so," replied Abe, whose countenance bright- 
ened; but it quickly clouded, while he continued: 

"He has gone away to sell her. What can we do?" 

"Why follow him of course. I should like to see him 
sell my horse. I am not that kind of a man to make a 
trade, not but what the mare is yours until after the Cold- 
brook race." 

This bold stand awakened a new fear in Abe's mind, 
as he could see it was likely to make his father still further 
trouble. This caused him to hesitate, and he had decided 
mentally that it would be better to abandon his whole 
project and let Bet go, when little Enoch exclaimed: 

"Here comes dad driving back. There's some one 
follering along behind him. It looks like Johnson's hoss." 

"Dad has found him," said Abe, "and he's sold Bet," 
not knowing whether to be glad or sorry. 

This seemed very probable, so Newbegin and his asso- 
ciate watched with the boys anxiously for the approach of 
the deacon and the man with him, who proved to be the 



horse jockey from Coldbrook. It proved that the latter 
had heard of the other's peculiar race, and had started 
immediately to see him, reasoning that it would be a good 
time to make a bargain. 

"Take the old mare out of the shafts," called out the 
deacon before he had alighted from the wagon, but begin- 
ning to descend to the ground as he spoke. He seemed 
in better spirits than he had been an hour before. "I've 
sold Bet to Johnson here, and he'll take her away with 

Now that the deed had been done Abe felt the blow 
more than he had expected, and he was too much overcome 
to offer to unharness the horse. 

"I told you to take that hoss out of th' wagon an' pull 
her harness off," thundered the deacon. "Johnson has a 
long road afore him, an he's anxious to be on his way." 

Abe did not dare to disobey, but he found courage to 
ask, as he stepped forward: 

"Haow much did yaou get for her, dad?" 

"Fifty dollars, to be paid in hand. I might hev got a 
hundred," he added in a lower tone, "but he was afeared of 
that lameness. I was lucky to find a buyer so handy. It 
seemed like the hand of Providence guided me that I 
should meet him just as I was startin' off." 

These words had reached the ears of Mr. Newbegin, 
who now stepped briskly forward, saying in a clear, crisp 

"Did I understand you to say you had sold this mare, 
Mr. Goodwill, to this man here?" 

"Ya'as; Mr. Johnson come along, an' as I had no 
furder use for her I thought I'd let her go. Th' price was 
lower'n I oughter take, but seein' I've had th' use of her so 
long, I thought mebbe I'd better take it." 

"Deacon Goodwill, I should like to know by what 
authority you sold my horse?" 

It would be stating a plain fact mildly to say that 
Deacon Goodwill was surprised at this question. He had 


acted in good faith in trying to dispose of the mare, even 
if his effort to do so had been born of an ugly feeling that 
would be difficult to explain, hoping thereby to heal a wound 
that rankled in his heart if not in his flesh. It is true he 
had considered seriously at the time the offer made to him 
by this stranger, and had intended to keep his part of what 
he considered a good bargain. But, somehow, retaining 
possession of the animal so long had somehow caused him 
to let the matter slip from his mind. Thus he had sold her 
to Mr. Johnson in the perfect confidence of being able to 
deliver the object of his trade without trouble. It was 
little wonder then he failed to reply to the question before 
Mr. Johnson, anticipating, perhaps, what was coming, 
thrust a roll of bills into the deacon's hand, saying in his 
brusque way: 

"You will find the amount all right, deacon — fifty dollars. 
It is a pretty steep price to pay, but I am a man of my 
word. Come, bub, strip off the harness, as I'm in a hurry 
to get started on a long journey," and he stepped forward 
to help Enoch about a task the boy would fain not have 
begun. Abe was unable to move, while he waited anxiously 
the outcome of the situation. 

"Hold on, sir!" commanded Newbegin, advancing also. 
"This is my horse, and I forbid you to so much as lay a 
hand on the beast." 

"I do not know you, sir. Stand aside or there will be 
trouble for you." 

The situation was becoming exciting, and Abe looked 
first from his father to Mr. Newbegin, and then upon the 
angry Johnson, wondering how the affair would end, when 
the former said: 

"Deacon Goodwill, I shall hold you to your word. 
Did I not buy this mare of you nearly a month ago?" 

"I — ya-as — yeou see, Mr. Johnson, I had forgot; but 
yeou will remember — " 

"That has nothing to do with the case now;" broke in 
the irate jockey. "I have bought the mare and paid my 


money. Now I want and shall take my property." 

"No — no! here's your money, Johnson. I was wrong 
— I didn't think. Oh! that ungodly mare '11 be th' death 
of me! How my rheumatiz stings. I shall have to have a 
new plaster on my back." 

Finding the jockey would not take back the money, 
Deacon Goodwill laid the roll of bills on his wagon seat 
without counting it, and started toward the house. At the 
same time Freeman motioned for Enoch to lead Bet to the 
barn, which he did, followed by Abe. Mr. Johnson's rage 
now knew no bounds, and he gave expression to expletives 
that would not grace these pages. He started at first to 
follow the boys, as if he would bring back the mare by 
force. But he seemed to think better of this movement, 
and as soon as he could clear his mind enough to speak 
coherently he exclaimed: 

"Timothy Goodwill, I shall hold you responsible for 
the deliverance of my horse. If you do not send her to 
John Cartwell's before twelve o'clock I shall send a sheriff 
to get possession. Of all the condemned mean tricks I 
ever had played on me this is the lowest. I put you down 
in my book of humbugs as the most rotten, low-lived image 
of man that I ever found." 

Perhaps it was well for the deacon's peace of mind 
that he had passed into the house, and so escaped listening 
to these vile statements which spoke so plainly of the 
character of the man who uttered them. 

"Mr. Johnson," said Freeman Newbegin, in that clear- 
cut tone of his that impressed the listener with the convic- 
tion that he meant every word he uttered, "you show no 
mark of a gentleman in your conduct or language. You 
forget where you stand, and the sterling character of the 
person you are addressing Besides you have no occasion 
to pick a quarrel with him. It is I who stand in your way. 
The mare is mine and I defy you to take her away. 
More than that, if you lift so much as a finger to cause the 
good deacon any more annoyance, I will send two sheriffs 


after you, and I will not let up until you are landed in the 
county jail. I know enough of your crookedness to do it, 
and I won't go back in your career more than a month 

Even the imperturbable adventurer was surprised at 
the audacity of his speech, but with keen foresight he had 
seen that his random shots were taking effect, and he 
showed no hesitation in his manner. Without replying the 
jockey climbed into his wagon, stuffed the money the dea- 
con had laid on the seat into his vest pocket, and drove 
away without even looking back. 

"Bravo for you!" exclaimed Leonard Quiver, as the 
little • group watched the departure of the other. "I 
wouldn't have missed that scene for the price of a whole 



The long road of life is a free one to all, 

And at best it is not very wide, 
And it's every one's duty to go at his best, 

If in cart or in carriage he ride. 
If this motto you paste in the top of your hat 

You will find that in time it will pay, 
And follow it out just the length of your days: — 
"Whip up or get out of the way!" 

• — Joe Jot, Jr. 

EITHER of the town claimants appeared at the 
town meeting called by two of the selectmen, the 
chief plotter deeming it wise to remain away. 
But Sheriff Jenness was promptly on hand, and in spite of 
the protests stormed upon him spoke half an hour on the 
virtue of the claim and the liability of the town. Among 
other speakers was Life Story, who spoke very fluently of 



the perfect decorum of the claimants, but who scouted the 
idea that their claim was worth considering". 

"Why, Mr. Moderator, the leetle squirrel that I over- 
heard talkin' to himself, as I come to this meetin,' has as 
good a claim as these audacious strangers. What is is an' 
it can't be argified. I remember on one of my hunts into 
th' North Woods—" 

Seeing that Uncle Life was about to begin one of his 
long yarns, an anxious voter sprang to his feet and moved 
the whole matter be left to the selectmen to investigate and 
report at an adjourned meeting. This motion being sec- 
onded by a dozen or more voting members, it was unani- 
mously voted in the affirmative. The result was what had 
been expected, and if the crowd gathered in the hall 
appeared calm and decorous, it was plainly visible that the 
spirit of the townspeople was to fight these claimants to 
the bitter end, if need be. The meeting was adjourned for 
three weeks, to allow the selectmen ample time in which to 
investigate and decide on the matter. 

During the lazy October days that followed, the excite- 
ment first awakened by the appearance of the town claim- 
ants subsided somewhat, as the public meeting had not 
awakened the stir and excitement that had been expected. 
The gold craze, too, began to quiet down, for after all but 
few had any faith in the matter, and many believed the 
speculator had got bitten. The county fair, now drawing 
near, became the absorbing topic of conversation, as it was 
known that desperate efforts were being made by the resi- 
dents of the "east district" to maintain their ring unbroken. 
It was whispered, though how much truth there was in it 
no one seemed to know, that Squire Newbegin was making 
a concentrated attempt to break down this jockey power. 
He was away from home most of his time, and the knowing 
ones said he was looking after the training of a horse to 
sweep the stakes at the coming race. Probably Abe Good- 
will had listened to these flying stories with the deepest 
interest, but they had not deterred him from steadily follow- 
ing his plans, as we have seen. 

(Begun in the July, 1 906, number; to be continued) 


Cfce ^tutor's t^mtjohj 

Our frontispiece for this volume is a drawing made 
expressly for the Granite State Magazine by Prof. J. 
Warren Thyng, from a sketch made by Mr. George W. 
Baker, of Stark's fort or garrison, which stood near the out- 
let of Swager's, now Nutt, Pond in Manchester. 

This was built in the summer of 1746, under the super- 
vision of Lieut. Archibald Stark, as a place of refuge for 
the inhabitants of Goffe's Falls, then known as Moore's 
settlement, and those who had collected in the vicinity of 
Amoskeag Falls. This stockade was about one hundred 
and twenty-five feet square. A well was dug and stoned 
between the building and the west shore of the pond, which 
is still to be seen, though nearly filled with debris. The 
situation of this garrison was most favorable, a body of 
scouts were stationed here for a time, and if the Indians 
had continued their depredations down the .Merrimack 
Valley as far as this place, it would have afforded service- 
able protection to the white settlers. 

For the third time we come to the close of a volume, 
which completes a busy six months' work. The table of 
contents at the end of this number speaks definitely of the 
result of our endeavor. While in some respects it does 
not come up to our expectations, in other ways we feel that 
our labor has not been lost. In the coming volume we 
hope to give the articles that have of necessity been 
omitted in this, together with many others of permanent 
value. It is our purpose still, as it was at the outset, to 
give in every number an article that is of actual value to 


278 the editor's window 

the historical reader, making the general contents of as 
wide interest as is possible in a publication of this kind. 

In the midst of this joyous season, when the old 
world is at her best, we already hear the announcements of 
Old Home Week reunions, and our sister commonwealth, 
Massachusetts, is kindling the fires of home love upon the 
altars of a hundred hamlets, and the glad greetings of re- 
united friends and relatives, if only for a day, is making happy 
many lives. And while these meet about the old hearth- 
stone, there comes to many an Old Home Day hallowed by 
the invisible presence of the absent ones living amid scenes 
far away. An ocean may roll between them and the 
environments of their childhood, and this fact coupled 
with the impassable void of years, wider and deeper than 
any ocean of waters, awakens a double train of thought. 
To them, it seems, should be extended a welcome, sacred 
with divine love. 

If it were a noble purpose to found a home in the wil- 
derness, is it not equally as divine to save that precious 
heritage from the desolation of decay? Scattered over the 
hills and valleys of the Granite State are many homes 
whose empty walls echo no longer to the sound of light 
footsteps, and whose deserted rooms speak to us in the 
eloquence of silence of a day and a dream that have van- 
ished. There are yet a greater number which are repre- 
sented simply by an ugly rent in the earth where Nature 
has taken pity over man's neglect and thrown her drapery 
of green foliage and wild flowers. Her work may be only 
a fringe of briars and unseemly bushes, but it serves to 
keep alive the memory of life. 

What bright dreams have arisen above these spots of 
neglect. What memories center there. Within the erst- 


the editor's window 279 

while walls of these homes have gathered the family circles 
of the fairest and brightest in the land. Here came the 
pioneer and his good wife to hew themselves homes out of 
the cheerless wilderness. He came in the elastic strength 
of manhood, filled with ambition and hopefulness. She 
came in the faith of woman's sacrifice of parental ties, 
giving into the keeping of her husband her beauty, her 
hopes, her happiness, her young life, her future. Here has 
rung the childish prattle and the merriment of childish 
laughter, innocent of guile. Here the fond mother's heart 
beat quicker as baby lips first uttered that precious name, 

These old homes represented all that is sweet and 
beautiful, toil and sacrifice, loss and gain, aspiration and 
human endeavor; all that helps to make life noble, grand 
and perfect From these silent and now dismantled rooms 
have gone forth the best the world has known. Here the 
silver-haired grandmother has bowed to the great sorrow 
of her life in the loss of him who had so long been her 
comrade in the years grown gray. From hence have been 
borne in the silent train of immortality the father, mother, 
son, daughter, each occupying a place in the great plan of 
destiny that nD other could fill. 

These invisible walls speak in the language of memory 
more eloquent than tongue of the defenders of our coun- 
try in times of war's alarms. They tell reverently of the 
men who went under Rogers, Blanchard and Goffe to stem 
the tide of French invasion in the days of border warfare. 
They speak of the call of Lexington and Concord and the 
gallant yeomanry who went with Stark, McClary and Cilley 
to meet the foreign invaders at Bunker Hill. They were 
with Poore at Trenton, with Sullivan in his memorable 
march through the Genesee Valley, with Stark at Benning- 
ton, Washington at Valley Forge, and shared in the glory 
of the victory at Yorktown. They were with McDonough 
on Lake Champlain, Perry on Lake Erie, under Scott and 
Taylor at Palo Alto and Monterey. The guns of Sumter 

280 the editor's window 

found an echoing answer here, and there was not a battle 
in the four years of Civil War that did not have its repre- 
sentative from these homes. Ay, sons of these New 
Hampshire homes, forsaken, neglected, abandoned, have 
fought on every battlefield of the Republic from Bunker 
Hill to Santiago. 

Not alone in war, but in peace, when other grave perils 
confronted the prosperity of the country, have they stood 
in the ranks of civil duty, our Websters, our Wilsons, our 
Chases, our Greeleys, our Danas, and others whose names 
need not be mentioned to be remembered. Gifted, indeed, 
must be the narrator who could do justice to the memory 
of these sons and the equally as brave and noble daughters 
who have stood for all that is pure and uplifting in the 
onward march of American civilization. We owe all to the 
lofty character of the man at the plow and the woman at 
the spinning wheel, who stood ready to forsake both at the 
demand of country. Let us then cherish the memory of 
these sacred hearthstones, and drop the tear of genuine 
worship upon the ashes of these forsaken homes left to 
ruin and forgetfulness because there are none to represent 
them now. 

Fryeburg, Me., was settled in 1763 by Gen. Joseph 
Frye, in whose honor the new township was named. Colo- 
nists from Massachusetts and New Hampshire quickly fol- 
lowed the hardy pioneer, so this became an important 
settlement on the borders of Maine and the Granite State. 
Its main street, a mile in length, bears proof of its antiquity 
in the venerable houses and stately trees overhanging 

In the long, dark period of Indian supremacy it was a 
town of importance among the dusky brotherhood that 
flitted across its fertile intervales at irregular intervals like 
the vanishing hosts of the Roman Varus. 


Utterarp Heabcs 

Holderness. An Account of the Beginnings of a New Hampshire 
Town, By George Hodges. Cloth, 12mo M 102 pages; illustrated with 
scenes from photographs, reproductions of old plans and portraits, and 
silhouettes. Price, 51.25, postpaid. 

This modest little volume, without assuming to be a town history, 
gives the reader many glimpses and sidelights into the early history not 
only of Holderness but of the state. Even the settlement of the boundary 
dispute with Massachusetts is given treatment, accompanied by a map 
from Hubbard's "Narrative," 1677. This is followed by a plan of the 
"Old Indian Trail," over which John Stark was taken in 1752, when he 
was captured by the Indians and taken to St. Francis. There is also the 
early plan of the township made by Samuel Lane to accompany the char- 
ter of 1751, succeeded by the later drawing of the "hundred acre lot." 

An appendix gives the many points of interest to be seen from 
Shepard Hill. This list shows not only a wide panorama cf country, but 
one extremely interesting and picturesque. The auihor is to be congrat- 
ulated upon the clear yet succinct manner in which he has treated his sub- 
ject, giving matter not only of local but of general interest. 

Among novels of timely interest on account of the tercentennial of 
the settlement of Jamestown is Maud Wilder Goodwin's ''The Head of a 
I lundred," which gives a charming picture of the colony of Virginia in 
the early seventeenth century. The publishers, Little, Brown & Co., 
Boston, have just issued a new popular price edition of "The Head of a 
Hundred." The heroic Hetty Romney comes to the shores of Viriginia 
in the first shipload of wives, to escape a titled marriage with a man she 
hates, selected for her husband by her father. It is a stirring colonial tale. 

Old Home Week. By James Ball Naylor. Illustrated and deco- 
rated by F. Gilbert Edge. C. M, Clark Publishing Company, Boston, 
Mass. Price, S2.50. This sumptuous volume is gven in appropriate and 
attractive pictures and decorations from the handsome cover design to the 
artistic ornament upon its last page. As a work of art it takes high place 
among the gift books and should be in every home in the land. For sale 
in Manchester at Goodman's. 

Less than a decade ago, at the suggestion of a New Hampshire gov- 
ernor, the first observance of Old Home Week occurred in the Granite 
State and proved an instantaneous success. The idea immed.ately seized 
upon the people, both upon those at home and abroad, and to-day it is 
a festival that promises to continue along with other New England insti- 
tutions for an indefinite period. 



This is but a just appreciation of the fundamental principles of a 
free government, whose foundations are the hearthstones of a people and 
whose pillars are the love of native land. There is an inspiration to be 
found in the greetings of old friends long separated unknown to those who 
drift with the current of loneliness. Not only does he who has remained 
under the shadows of the parental rooftree obtain a wider impression of 
the world in the cheery words of the returned friend, but this new-comer 
toxoid scenes finds a hopeful uplifting to the soul that has become sated 
with the glamor of the ambitions of the broader life in the simple, 
unaffected guile of the less ambitious brother. 

As he who climbs 
the hill to get a wider 
survey of the scene 
loses the real charm 
that comes from a 
closer view, so does 
he who leaves his 
early home for the 
wider associations of 
the eternal struggle 
of ambition, sacrifice 
much that comes in 
to the life of him 
who remains in the 
smaller and yet 
higher sphere. 

We are forcibly 
reminded of this 
truth by the beauti- 
ful volume from the 
gifted pen of James 
Ball Xaylor, who 
leads us into the 
sweet mysteries of 
his work with this 


felicitous dedication : 

"To a sunburnt rogue of the Barefoot Tribe, 
Who knew every scene that I here describe, — 
Every sunny glade, every shady nook! — 
I dedicate this little book; 
To a brave of the Barefoot Tribe of Glee — 
To the Little Boy that I used to Be!" 

The author opens amid the busy scenes of office work, into which is 
crowded so much of the continual endeavor of life — 

"Where the rushing streams of traffic swirl and mingle as they meet." 



Aroused from these 
scenes by a letter from 
an old playmate he sees 
"the load of years slip- 
ping from his sagging 
shoulders," and again 
he is back at the old 
home upon his father's 
farm. The tumult of 
the crowded city and 
the babel of tongues is 
exchanged for the buzz 
of bees among the clo- 
ver and the murmur of 
the brook winding down 
through the orchard. 
Again he drinks from 
the old gourd at the 
spring, and hears the 
cheery notes of Bob 
White's whistle as the 
saucy songster swings 
to and fro upon his 
slender stalk of golden 
grain. Deciding to re- i 
turn home he fondly «■ 
thinks to surprise his 
oldtime friends by steal- 
ing back to them unannou 
coming and he finds them at 





\&m& mm. 


need, but somehow they got notice of his 
the station to meet him. 

There they were to meet and greet me — those dear chums of other days!- 

Older, graver, bent with work and worldly care; 
Badly marred in many features, sadly changed in many ways — 

Lacking grace of limb and sorely scant of hair. 
But I knew them— oh, I knew them! knew each girlish trick and trait — 

Remnants of the merry coquetry of yore; 
And recognized each impish grin, each boyish move and gait — 

And loved them as I never had before! 

Among all others the home-seeker sees an aged pair 

"Their love alight with pride, — 
Their countenances bright with love and joy! 
Hesitatingly advancing, hand in hand and side by side; 
And I caught their murmured words, 'My son! my boy!'" 





n ■-' P 

• - f 


Following the well-remembered road to the old homestead that stood 
"high upon the hill," they entered the quiet dwelling, sacred with its many 
memories of bygone days and vanished visions. In the roomy kitchen 
they take their supper, recounting the little incidents that arise in the 
retrospective mind. And so, in this pleasant vein, the poet leads us on 
and on through the shifting scenes that come and go in the fancy of the 
kaleidoscopic range of time. Not only scenes are pictured with a deli- 
cate, yet powerful, touch; but old acquaintances are renewed, while others 
— the absent ones — dearer grown from long-past association, severed, never 
to be taken up again. In this happy, soulful mood the poet takes us, 
hand in hand, into that 

"Dear, delightful land of merriment! I roamed it all again, 
From the gaunt, gray house of worship on the ridge 
To the humble little school-house, nestling low in Carter's glen, 
And the sunfish pool near Sandy Bottom bridge." 

Back again to the scenes of the busy city, he finally returns feeling 
better, stronger and wiser to take up the battle of life, as we must feel 
brighter and more hopeful for the hour passed amid the pictured memories 
that we share with him. Taken altogether, this is a delightful book, and 
comes at an opportune time. 

Granite ^tate jfBaga?ine 

Vol. III. 

a jCDonttjlp Publication 
JANUARY, 1907. 

No. 1. 


Terms:— Per Annum $1.50 

Eight Months 1.00 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to put it into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly: Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, N. H. 

Entered as second-class matter, December 21, 1905, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 
rj the Act of Cong-ess of March 3, 1S79. 

Printed by The Ruemely Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H, 

'Cable of Contents 

Life and Character of Ruel Durkee. (Portraits and Illustration) 

A Staff Contribtttor 1 

Death of Arnold. (Poem) T. C. Harbaugh 11 

. Rogers' Scout at Lake George George Waldo Browne 13 

The Old Farm-House on the Hill. (Poem) Fred Myron Colby 15 

First Glass Making in America. (Illustrated.) Charles B. Heald 17 

A Lesson for Boys George Bancroft Griffith 22 

The Viking's Love Song. (Illustrated Poem) George Waldo Br (none 23 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) George Waldo Brow?ie 25 

The Winter Sun. (Poem) Anson G. Osgoo 1 45 

The Editor's Window The Editor 47 

Sixty Weeks for $1.75 

Don't put off until to-morrow the matter 
of subscribing for The Youth's Compan- 
ion. The publishers offer to send to every 
new subscriber for 1907 who at once remits 
the subscription price, $175, all the issues 
for the last eight weeks of 1906 free. 

These issues will contain nearly 50 com- 
plete stories, besides the opening chapters 
of Hamlin Garland's serial, "The Long 
Trail" — all in addition to the 52 issues for 

Whatever your age, six, sixteen or sixty, 
you will find The Companion to be your 
paper. It touches every worthy interest in 
life — every interest that promotes cheerful. 

ness, develops character, enlarges the under- 
standing and instills ideas of true patri- 

Full illustrated Announcement of The 
Companion for 1907 will be sent to any 
address free with sample copies of the 

New subscribers will receive a gift of The 
Companion's Four-Leaf Hanging Calendar 
for 1907, lithographed in twelve colors and 

Subscribers who get new subscriptions 
will receive $16,290.00 in cash and many 
other special awards. Send for information. 

144 Berkeley Street, Boston, Mass. 


Utterarp Heabe$ 

A Boy's Vacation Abroad. C. F. 
King, Jr. Cloth, gilt top, profusely illus- 
trated from photographs by the author, 163 
pages. C. M. Clark Publishing Company, 
Boston. Price, $ 1 50. For sale at Goodman's 

This book is a unique and striking 
departure in literary effort. The author is a 
typical American boy of seventeen, a Boston 
lad, who is now a cadet at St. John's Mili- 
tary School, Manilus, New York. In this 
book, which is his first but we predict not 
his last, he has given in a school-boy spirit 
tQj /- and enthusiasm his experiences during a 

vacation abroad. Young King has a quick 
eye, a keen sense of humor, a ready wit, and 
proves himself a highly interesting descrip- 
tive writer. Told in his vivacious, charming 
style, his easy, boy-like description affords 
refreshing reading to young and old, and is 
not to be compared with the general works 
upon foreign travel filled with stereotyped 
descriptions. The book is having, as it 
deserves, a wide sale. 

Like all of the books of this enterpris- 
C- F. KING, Jr. ing house, it is attractively issued. 

The Stars and Stripes and Other American Flags. Peleg D. Harrison. 
Cloth, illustrated, 407 pages. Price, $3 net. Little, Brown & Company, Boston. For sale 
at VV. P. Goodman's Bookstore. 

The author of this handsome volume deserves much praise for the careful and com- 
prehensive manner in which he has treated this patriotic subject. It is in fact the only 
complete work upon the flags, as far as we know, that has been published within several 
years. It shows from long and persistent research, and sifting out from the miscellaneous 
and scattered material available much valuable information. He has in a single volume 
placed such facts as the student as well as the common reader might desire, every page of 
the work proving the care and accuracy of the author. The scope of the book is shown 
in the following chapter titles : 

Origin and Development of the National Standard, Colonal and Provincial Flags, Pre- 
Revolutionary and Revolutionary Flags, the Stars and Stripes, Army Flags, Colors, Stand- 
ards, and Guidons, Special Flags, The First Display of American Flags on Land and Sea, 
The Return of Battle Flags, Flag Making, Flag Display Regulations, Salutes, Tnbutes to 
Flags, Honoring the Flag, Flag Legislation, The Flag of Truce, Displaying Flags at Half- 
Mast, Improvised Flags, Unique Flags, Origin of the Name of Old Glory, The Name of 
"Old Glory," Secession Flags, The Stars and Bars, The Confederate Battle Flags, The 
Second Confederate Battle Flags, The Third Confederate Battle Flags, Stories of Confed- 
erate Flags, Songs and Their Stories, The American Flag, Barbara Frietchie, The Bonny 
Blue Flag, The Conquered Banner, The Apron Flag, Index. 




The interest and value of this superb work is greatly enhanced by the drawings, 
printed in colors, of the following flags by Miss Jane Cutter: The Stars and Stripes of To- 
Day, The Betsy Ross Flag, The Fifteen Star and Fifteen Stripe Flag, Twenty Stars and 
Thirteen Stripes, The Stars and Bars, The Battle Flag, The Second National Flag, The 
Third National Flag. 

The Silver Crown. Another Book of Fables, by Laura E. Richards, author of 
"Captain January," "The Golden Windows," etc. Cloth, i2mo, 105 pages. Ltttle, Brown 
& Co., Boston. Price, $1.25. For sale by Goodman. 

The lovers oT Mrs. Richards' books, and they are many, will appreciate this beautiful 
collection of forty-five fables, simply written and exquisitely conceived, with a little golden 
moral attached to each. These new fables cover a wide range and the book is highly 
embellished. Old and young will read it with equal delight. We gave a copy of it to our 
little girl and she was delighted with it. We have read it ourselves and laid it down wish- 
ing there had been another fable to tell by this fascinating writer. 

Among the leading articles in the Delineator for February we note. Fooling the Public 
(illustrated), by Fred Thompson. The growth of the big show as described by a master 
showman. The Making of a Charming Woman (illustrated). "An Old Beau," with some 
temerity, vent ares to discuss this interesting subject. Flow to Order in a Restaurant (illus- 
trated), by Elizabeth M. Rhodes. For the initiated, this is good reading; for the uninitiated, 
it is sound instruction. Confidence and Dollars, by Lida A. Churchill. An inspiring little 
article in "The Department of Real Life." Little Problems of Married Life. William 
George Jordan, under this heading, discusses "The Specter of Constant Jealousy" The 
Dawn of Womanhood, by Gabrielle E. Jackson. This chapter of a series of talks 
helpful to young women is dedicated to mothers. The Care of the Woman, by Dr. Anna 
M. Galbraith. Dr. Galbraith writes with scientific accuracy on the subject of "The Com 
plexion." Talks on Home-Making, by Alice M. Kellogg. Miss Kellogg this month gives 
practical suggestions for the furnishing of "A Girl's Room." Fashions of the Stage. 
Photographs of leading women of the stage posed exclusively for the Delineator, and illus- 
trating some features of advanced style. Our Delineator Grandmothers. "One of Them" 
contends that to dress ,well is as much the duty of the old as the young woman. The 
fiction for this month is especially good, while the departments include Fashions in New 
York, The Dress of Paris, Styles of the Month, Lessons in Millinery, Lessons in Dress- 
making, At the Point of the Needle, Miscellanea, The Children, The Money-Makers, The 

THE WOODRANGER. A Story of the Pioneers of the Debatable Ground. Illus- 
trated by L. J. Bridgman. 312 pp ; $1.25. 

The scene of this book is the tract of country along the Merrimack River claimed by 
the settlers from Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Among the historical characters 
are young John Stark, afterwards famous as General Stark, William Stark, his older 
brother, the Captain under Wolfe at the taking of Quebec, Robert Rogers, later known as 
" Rogers the Ranger," Col. John Goffe, the noted scout and Indian fighter, besides others, 
the MacDonalds, of Glencoe, the McNeils, of Londonderry, and that semi-historic and 
romantic forester, " The Woodranger." Not only does this tale deal with the differences 
arising from a bitter hatred of races, but it portrays in a picturesque manner the home-life 
of the colonists, their trials and hardships, their sports and adventures in the clearing and 
in the wilderness- 



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Photo-Engraving, Printing, 
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Rumford Printing Co., Concord, N # H 

Photo-Engravers for the Granite State Magazine. 

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We want local and general agents in every town in the state to 

canvass for the Graxite State Magazine. Liberal cash 

commission or salary paid. Write at once. 

The Granite State Magazine, 64 Hanover Street, anchester, H. H, 

Granite ^tate JBarra^irte 

a /Eonttjlp Publication 

Vol. III. FEBRUARY, 1907. No. 2. 


Terms:— Per Annum $1.50 

Eight Months l.<>0 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history*, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to put it into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly: Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, N. H. 

Entered as second-class matter, December 21, 1905, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 

the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 

Printed by The Ruemely Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. 

Cable of Contents * 

Pioneers of "Popular Literature." (Three Illustrations) George Waldo Browne 49 

Familiar Scene. (Poem) George Bancroft Griffith 56 

Congregational Churches in New Hampshire Rev. Thomas Chalmers 57 

1907. (Poem) L. Direxa Stearns 63 

A Boy of '76 Victor St. Clair 64 

The Penacook's Farewell to Lake Stjnapee. (Poem) Martha H.Abbott 68 

Oldtime Sketches. Winter Cheer. (Illustrated.) Nestor 0/ the Farms 71 

Twilight. (Poem) .' George Bancroft Griffith 75 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) • George Waldo Browne 76 

Forever and Aye. (Poem) Emily A. Braddock 87 

Pleasant Pond. (Illustrated Poem) George Waldo Browne 88 

Cbitortal Hookout 

Among the attractions we have been able to offer in The Granite 
State Magazine there has not been one of greater interest than the 
papers we shall begin in an early number, of Personal Recollections of 
Whittier, written by an author and artist who knew him intimately for 
twenty-five years. We predict a wide interest in these articles, which 
will be illustrated by our special artist. 



Hiterarp Iteabes 

Maid of the Mohawk. A Romance of the Mohawk Valley in the Days of the 
Revolution. By Frederick A. Ray. Cloth, 12mo, 340 pages, illustrated. Price, $1.50- 
C. M. Clark Publishing Company, Boston, Mass. For sale in Manchester by Gooodman. 

The picturesque valley of the Mohiwk River, one of the tributaries of the Hudson, 
was the scene of many exciting and important events during the American Revolution. 
Selecting this region of storied interest as the setting for his romance, Mr. Ray has given us 
one of the best novels of the season. It is strong in its cast of characters, many of them 
of historical note, beautiful in its language and description, interesting in its grasp of inci- 
dents. We get clear-cut views of the trying period when the fortune of a people was hang- 
ing in the balance of human love of freedom and generosity. The identity of the famous 
"Unknown Benefactor" who, by the gift of a large sum of money to General Washington, 
saved the Continental Army at a critical time is here made known for the first time. Not 
less strong in its pictures of the adversity of the American troops suffering the pains of 
bitter marches and the privations of the winder camp is the author in his descriptions of 
British ease and ioviality of camp life, the ball, the party and the banquet. The Maid 
of the Mohawk is herself one of the sweetest, most winsome heroines in fiction. 


/Hi- • 

•%:"-- - ^, v.. 



Snott -Bound. A Winter Idyl. By John Greenleaf Whittier. With twenty full- 
page Illustrations from drawings by Howard Pyle, John J. Enneking and Edmund H. Gar- 
rett. Decorations by Adrian J. Jorio. rioth, royal octavo, 96 pages. Houghton, Mihiin 
•& Co., Boston and New York. Price $2.50. For sale in Manchester by Goodman. 

Had Whititer written no other poem than "Snow-Bound" his fame would have been 
assured. In this we find him at his best, a work that is not only worth one reading but 
deserving of careful study He has glorified our New England winter and pictured the 
homely comforts of jts severe days as none but a master poet could. The sumptuous 
edition now issued by this old publishing house is one fitting the grand subject. As a work 
of art it is elegant, and no handsomer ornament for the center table can be obtained. This 
most popular of American poems has been issued in many forms, but not one that surpasses 
this attempt. The names of the artists are sufficient guaranty that from an artistic point 
the undeitaking has been faithfully performed, while the name of the house that is its 
sponsor^warrants the rest. There is no room for dissatisfaction or disappointment. 

Thk Untamed Philosopher. By Frank W. Hastings, author of several widely 
unknown works. With numerous illustrations. Cloth. 12mo, 258 pages. C. M. Clark 
Publishing Company, Boston. For sale in Manchester by Goodman, or sent postpaid by 
the publishers. Price, $1.50. 

So much is easily said, but here we hesitate. We have read the book, that is, the 
most of it, and still live, eat three good meals a day,- when we can get them, and advise you 
to get the book if you want to laugh, if you want to find homely philosophy on tap, a little 
sarcasm that will, as likely as not, touch you, and withal a little common sense. Mr. Hast- 
ings' work has been dominated "a scintilating salire on Love, Work, Education, Religion, 
'Temperance and Marriage. 1 ' Candidly, we think he is a little hard on Mariah. Mariah, it 
should be known, was the victim of his companionship. We may have gotten a wrong 
impression. See for yourself and forgive us if you can. As an inkling of what the book 
contains we quote the following excerpts at random : 

"My idea of labor is to let somebody else perform the vulgar deed, but Mariah's 
notion is that folks become weak and dyspeptic without work." 

"All is humor! And all the people are humorists, from the sedate Adam down to the 
modern circus clown." 

"The great uplifting principle of Love is to love one's self above all and all the time." 

"If the marriage venture isn't a success, what a blessing it is to have God left to curse 
for the failure." 

"Keep on the funny side of the road, which is also the sunny side! 

"Intellectually the hen is not a dazzling success. Her low narrow forehead indicates 
lack of brain force and spirituality. 

"This world is a little subu rb of Paradise or a preparatory school of the other country, 
according as we clear up the brush heaps of despair and make the grass of good cheer 
grow all over the old place." 

Note. — We hope to read the rest of the booly at an early date, and invite the author, 
whom we believe is a Vermonter, to give us a call. 



The Youth's Companion in 1907 

The Youth's Companion announces 
among the attractions of it* 52 issues in li*07 


practical papers, serviceable to young people 
who have their way to make in the world, 
helpful in their insistence on won hy ideals 
in every relation of life, useful in the home 
— particularly the regular series, "Till the 
Doctor Comes." 


capital stories — humorous stories, character 
stories, stories of life on the farm, in the 
great cities, on the sea, in the wilderness. 
Among them will be Five Serial Stories by 
five Companion favorites ; Hamlin Garland, 
Adeline Knapp, Ralph Barbour, Grace Rich- 
mond and Holman F. Day. There will be a 
series, also, based upon incident in American 
history, illustrative of life and times in 
America from the first colonial planting to 
the close of the Civil War. 


short notes giving concisely, clearly and 
accurately the important news of the times 
in public affairs, and in the fields of science 
and industry. 


contributors giving assurance that every 
need and every taste among Companion 
readers will be satisfied. Governor Folk of 
Missouri, Fdward Everett Hale, Margaret 
Deland, Col. T, W. Higginson, Commander 
Eva Booth of the Salvation Army, Gen, 
A. \Y. Greely and Ion Perdicaris are 
among them. 


one-minule stories, anecdotes, bits of humor 
— sketches which take not more than a min- 
ote to read. They are always new, always 
well told, and in great quest by preachers 
and after-dinner speakers. 

A full Announcement of the new volume 
will be sent with sample copies of the paper 
to any address on request. The new sub- 
scriber for 1907 who sends $1,7.") for the new 
volume at once will receive free all the 
remaining issues for 1906\ including the 
Double Holiday Numbers; also The Com- 
panion's Four-Leaf Hanging Calendar for 
1907, lithographed in twelve colors and 

Subscribers who get new subscriptions 
will receive 816,290.00 in cash and many 
other special awards. Send for information. 

144 Berkeley .Street, Boston, Mass. 



ijL LL 

Ther*aremore!tJcralI Pattern* "-id in the United 
States than of any other make o J pa- terrs. This is on 
account of their style, accuracy and s;ir;^i.i-ity. 

McCall's MnRHZlDP'TheO'T-enof F^hion) has 
more subscribers than :.ny ether Ladies' Maa: z:ue. One 
year's subscription (12 number-) cn«=ts ,30 crrtn. t- 3 '^* 
numb-r, 5 cent*. Every subscriber gets a McCalt Pat- 
tern Free. S-i^cn'be today. 9 

Lady Ajrent* Wanted. Handsome premiums or 
liberal cash commission. Pattern Catalogue-, cf 6co de. 
«i-ns) an<i Prem'im Catalogue (showing 4>c premuns) 
«*nt free. Address THE McCALL CO.. New York. 

" Correct English= 

How to use it." 

A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Use of English. 
Josephine Turck Baker, Editor. 

Partial Contents 

Course in Grammar. How to Increase One's Vo- 
cabulary. The Art of Conversation. Shall and Will; 
Should and WobM : How to Use Them. Pronunci- 
ations (Century Dictionary), Correct English in the 
Home. Correct English in the School. What to Say 
and What Not to Say. Course in Letter-Writing and 
Punctuation, Alphabetic List of Abbreviations. 

Business English for the Business Man- Compound 
Words: How to Write Them. Studies in English 

Agents Wanted. 
$1 a Year. Send 10 cents for Single Copy 

Correct English, Evanston, III. 

Granite J>tare ^Saga?tne 

a «p3ontt)lp Publication 

Vol. III. MARCH, 1907. No. 3. 


Terms:— Per Annum $1.50 

Eight Months 1.00 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to pufit into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly: Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, N. H. 

Entered as second-class matter, December 21, 1905, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 

the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 

Printed by The Ruemely Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N, H. 

Cable of Contents; 

Reminiscences of Whittier. (Five Illustrations) /. Warren Thyng 89 

Veritas. (Poem) Harold D. Carrw 96 

Gen. James Miller and His Temple Home. (Four Illustrations) 

Charles B. Heald 99 

The Soldier of Castile. (Poem) James Newton Matthews 107 

Pioneers of "Popular Literature." (Six Portraits) George Waldo Browne 109 

American Veterans Otis G. Hammond 117 

The Village Mystery Hezekiah Butterzvorth 121 

The City in the Sea. (Poem) Thomas C. Harbaugh 128 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) George Waldo Browne 121' 

Cbitortal Hoofeout 

It is with pleasure that we announce for our next number a care- 
fully prepared article by Dr. Maurice Baldwin, upon "Personal Recollec- 
lections of the New London and Colby Academy." This is one of the 
oldest schools of its kind in the state, and its history and environments 
afford a most interesting story. While Dr. Baldwin does not aim to tell 
its full history, he does give us in a most entertaining manner something 
of its personal side, and as it appeared to him coming from the south- 
land to enjoy its instruction. Other articles of interest and historic 
value are on the way. 


literary HeatoeS 

The Native Ministry of New Hampshire. By Rev. N. F. Carter. A substan- 
tial volume of 1,017 pages, Svo. bound in cloth, with portrait of the author. The Rumford 
Printing Company, Concord, N. II. For sale by the Author. 

This voluminous work is the result of over thirty years of research aud compilation, 
which means a vast amount of patient labor along the lines of history and biography. 
But it is not labor in vain, as the work is done in a faithful and cofseientions manner and 
becomes a monument of honest endeavor. The towns are arranged in alphabetical order 
and, as far as we have been able to verify the lists, they are as complete as could be 
expected of a first attempt of this kind. The sketches are as full and authentic as could 
be made under the circumstances, and comprise the mention and description of 2,509 min- 
isters who, in home and foreign lands, have sought to render good service to Christianity 
and humanity. 

The knowledge of local history and biography has become more and more sought after 
and prized by the well-informed everywhere. This volume seems to us as indispensable as any 
history, and shows an even greater amount of patient and painstaking work than has been 
done in other fields. In perpetuating these records and making them accessible to the stu- 
dent and general reader as well, Mr. Carter has certainly rendered his generation a pleasant 
and valuable offering, rai>ed a handsome memorial to the memory of those who have gone 
before, while the value and importance of his work to posterity is not to be estimated. 
Every town and church library should, and doubtless will, have a copy, as it is a work that 
is sure to be in demand by those who care anything for local history, while the individual 
collector of Americana will not miss it if he is at all desirous of having the most desirable 
of the local histories. For further particulars address the Author at Concord, N. H. 

History of the New Hampshire Surgeons in the War of the Rebellion. 
By Granville P. Conn, A. B., M. D. Cloth, Svo, 558 pages. With portrait of Dr. Jno. 
Mills Browne. Ira C. Evans Company, Printers, Concord, N. H. 

Published by order of the New Hamphire Association of Military Surgeons, and writ- 
ten by an author who was eminently fitted for the task, this work is a valuable addition to 
the state's military history. The histories of the regiments now complete with, we believe. 
one exception, this handsome volume fills in a gap most admirably and will doubtless be in 
demand, not only among the libraries but with the seekers after state history. The author 
in his preface says that ten years of work have been required to complete the work, which 
accounts for the thoroughness with which it has been done. 

It is arranged according to the regiments, closing with the miscellaneous organizations. 
Occupying a distinctive part in connection with the regimental histories, it proves a good 
auxiliary to them, and no student of the Civil War can afford to miss it. Most of the 
sketches are very complete, and both the author and the association are to be congratulated 
upon the result of the undertaking. 

Jay Gould Harmon with Maine Folks. By George S. Kimball, author of "Piney 
Home," etc. Bound in cloth and tastefully ornamented. Ten illustrations printed in tints. 
12mo, 441 pages. Price, $150- C M. Clark Publishing Company, Boston, Mass. For 
sale in Manchester by Goodman. 

The publishers speak of this as another "Quincy Adams Sawyer." In some respects 
it is a book of superior merit. It is certainly good enough to stand on its own qualities. 


Rapid in its movements, it carries the reader on from scene to scene with an interest that 
does not wane from the opening to the final act. The description of the log drive is the 
strongest we have ever read, and so good that we have marked that chapter for another 
reading. This work ought to appeal to Maine people wherever they may be living, while it 
is scarcely less interesting to those who have never seen the Pine Tree State, as it gives 
vivid pictures of its country life which will be remembered long after the book has been 
laid aside. Jones of Xkw Hampshire. By Edward S. Ellis, author of "Deerfoot Series" 
and many other stories of frontier life. Cloth, illustrated, 12mo, 282 pages. Price, $1.25. 
G. W. Dillingham Company, Publishers, New York. For sale in Manchester by Goodman. 

Here we have a book with a history in itself quite as interesting as the story it tells 
and that is saying considerable. It is one of the few books that we read as a boy with 
intense pleasure and read again as a man with hardly less desire to follow it page by page 
to the concluding scene, and the wish that there had been another chapter. It is not a 
great story, a fact which its author does not claim, but it is a healthy story of adventure* 
such as any healthy minded youth would enjoy. Originally we bought it for ten cents; now 
it costs $1.25. We got the same picture of the redoubtable Seth in his border garb and 
accoutrements, looking: to our boyish mind like an ideal frontiersman; we got the same 
inimitable account of his adventures, and incidentally the thread of a love story. We were 
glad to get it then at the low price we did; we are glad to get it now at its increased price 
in its more becoming dress, that we may put it on our library shelf beside "The Gunmaker 
of Moscow," by Cobb; "Grayslayer," by Hoffman; ''The Green Mountain Boys." by 
Thompson, and other old-time favorites. 

Elsewhere, in our article on "Pioneers of 'Popular Literature,'" we speak of the class 
of books to which "Seth Jones" belonged at the time it was first given to the reading 
world. This was really the first successful dime novel, due largely to the fact that it was 
the most extensively advertised. Even Bonner, in his startling system of placing his publi- 
cations before the world was outdone. The Beadles literally plastered every inch of poster 
ground with the placard asking the simple question, "Who is Seth Jones?" The following 
week these placards were succeeded, from Maine to Oregon, by another bearing a full-length 
picture of the hunter-scout and the announcement : "I am Seth Jones." The result was 
wonderful. Over 400,000 copies of the work were sold, and the success of the series 
assured. The author suddenly found himself in a position to earn more money than he had 
ever dared to dream of in his vocation as schoolmaster. He followed this with others of 
its class, until to-day he stands among the best of our writers of juvenile works. 

The adventures of "Seth Jones" we are lead to suppose are really mainly those that 
would naturally come to one of the many men who were Leatherstockings of pioneer 
days The original ' Seth," we understand, was a native of Hopkinton, this state, who, dis- 
appointed in a love affair, disappeared from his home and went into what was then "The 
Great West," now the Empire State. 

Written with less attempt at ambitious effort, and therefore lacking the long and, 
sometimes, tedious descriptions contained in the works of Hoffman, Cooper, Simms. and 
others who followed in the line of work started with them, the writers of Beadle deserve a 
larger meed of credit than they have obtained. In future numbere of this department, we 
intend to speak more fully of the books and writers of more than half a century ago, when 
the foundation of American literature was being laid. 



Owl Tower. By Charles S. Coom, author of ''The Haronet Rag-Picker." etc. 
Handsomely bound in cloth, with eight full-page illustrations. 12mo, 36o pages. Price, 
$150. C. M. Clark Publishing Company, Boston, Mass. For sale in Manchester by 

Owl Tower was a high, ivy-covered fortress that had stood for centuries as a sentinel 
between the estates of Coleshill and Trevisick in "Merrie England." Between these two 
families a bitter feud had'existed for three generations, so that when the heir of Coleshill 
fell in love with the oldest daughter of Sir Joseph Trevisick exciting times were bound to 
happen. The plot of the story is ingenious and the characters are both very human and 
delightfully entertaining^ How "Love will find a way" to climb high towers and surmount 
every other kind of barrier is told in a bright and tneezy style by Mr. Coom in this, his 
latest and best book. 

The New Visible 

is the latest and only perfect visible Typewriter 
that correctly solves the objections that hereto- 
fore have always been made against front- 
stroke machines. 

Key Tension, 2 1-2 ounces: Aluminum Key 
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Ribbon ; Interchangeable Carriage; Tabulator; 
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141 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. Tel. 309-12. 

Genera! Agents for New Hampshire for the 

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" Correct English= 

How to use it." 

A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Use of English. 
Josephine Turck Baker, Editor. 

There are more !»IcCal I Pattern* sold intheUnited 
States than of any other make o i pa.terrs. 1 ais is on 
account of their style, accuracy and simpl.crty. 

McCall'i JWajrazine'TheQneenof F^hion) has 
more subscribers Uiri any other Ladies Mag zme Une 
year's subscription 12 numbers) co«=ts 50 cents. Latest 
numb-r, 5 cent*. Every subscriber gets a McCall fat- 
tern Free. Suj^cribe today. Q 

L,ndy A (tent* Wanted. Handsnme premiums or 
liberal ca«;h commission. pattern Car alogue I ot & o ce. 
■i -ns) and Premium Catalo •« (showing 4«> prem.ums) 
«*o£ free. Address THE ilcCALL CO.. friew \ oxk. 

Partial Contents 

Course in Grammar. Howto Increase One's Vo- 
cabulary. The Art of Conversation. Shall and Will; 
Should and Would : How to Use Them Pronunci- 
ations (Century Dictionary), Correct English inthe 
Home. Correct English in the School What to Say 
and What Not to Say Course in Letter-Writine and 
Punctuation. Alphabetic List of Abbreviationsd 
Business English for the Business Man. Compoun. 
Words: How to Write Them. Studies in English 

Agents Wanted. 
$1 a Year. Send 10 cents for Single Copy 

Correct English, Evanston, 111. 

<©ramte J>tate <JTBaga?me 

Vol. III. 

a X®ont\)lv Publication 
APRIL, 19U7. 

No. 4. 


Terms: — Per Annum $1.50 

„ Eight Months 1."0 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to put it into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly: Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, X. H. 

Entered as second-class matter, December 21, 1905, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 

the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 

Printed by The Ruemely Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. 

Cable of Contents 

The Pioneers of Antrim. (Illus'rated) Rev. William Hurlin 137 

Our Fathers of Old. (Illustrated Poem) .. .Nondescript 143 

Early Views of Towns Along the Merrimack. (Five Illustrations) 145 

Reminiscences of New London and Colby Academy. (Three Illustrations) 

Maurice Baldwin 153 

The Origin of the Arbutus. (Poem) Frederic Allison Tapper 163 

The Weaker Sex. (Poem) Nixon Waterman 166 

The End of the World Winsor Brownell 167 

Beauty. (Poem) Carroll Raymond 174 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) George Waldo Browne 174 

Broken. (Poem) Edith M. Niles 1S3 

The Editor's Window The Editor 184 

Cbttortal Hookout 

We are glad to announce that our May number will contain the sec- 
ond part of Professor Thyng's highly entertaining "Reminiscences of 
Whittier, by River, Lake and Sea." The article will be accompanied by 
seven drawings made expressly for it. We shall also print Mr. T. B. 
Aldrich's historical sketch of Portsmouth with five illustrations. Other 
articles of interest and value will help to make this the most entertain- 
ing and valuable number we have ever issued. 





Hiterarp Heabes 

Highland Mary, The Romance of a Poet. By Clayton Mackenzie Legge. Illus- 
trated by William Kirkpatrick. Printed on deckled edge, hand made linen paper: bound in 
red silk cloth and gold, with gilt top; 395 pages. Price SI 50. C. M. Clark Publishing 
Company. Boston, Mass. For sale in Manchester by Goodman. 

Our love and admiration for the poetry 
of Hums, if not for this most fortunate and 
unfortunate of men, causes us to turn with 
high expectation, bordering almost upon 
reverence, to this book, which we follow 
through from page to page until all too soon 
we reach the clo>ing scene and the curtain 
of imagination only conceals from us the 
romance of reality. Next to the poet High- 
land Mary's sweet, sad life has won for her 
a safe and abiding place in the hearts of 
many people. The author here for the first 
time unfolds the pathetic story of her life, 
a romance sweeter than any poet ever told. 
Next to Mary he has placed the beautiful, 
self-forgetful Jean Armour, so the story 
possesses a double interest in the lives of 
the two women who came into the life of 
Burns, between whose unselfish loves he 
failed to find the full completion of human 

This was not strange, for temperaments 
like Burns, Byron and Poe were not created- 
for happiness but for the expression of some soulful sentiment that only such natures seem 
able to give forth, it would seem. By the way, the author is a descendant of the Henry 
Mackenzie who was the first to appreciate the gifts of Burns, and who was his friend in 
adversity, when friends are needed. We consider this a book of real merit, deserving of a 
large sale. No admirer of Burns should fail to secure a copy. 

The Lieutenant, the Girl and the Viceroy. By Marshall Putnam Thompson. 
Cloth, 12mo., ten illustrations, colored picture of Inez, gilt top, uncut edges, 274 pages 
Price, $1.50. C. M. Claik Publishing Company, Boston. For sale in Manchester by 

Mr. Thompson has written a strongly dramatic story of adventure, the action of which 
takes place in one of the old Spanish vice-royalties in South America. 

It is intensely interesting, brisk and breezy, and across its pages pass rapidly Soldiers 
of Fortune, American army officers, haughty Spanish officials and fascinating senoritas. 

Although not claiming to be historical, "The Lieutenant, the Girl and the Viceroy" is 
founded on fact and reveals, under fictitious names, the actors in a forgotten and romantic 
chapter of American diplomatic history. 

There are no soul or social "Problems" in Mr. Thompson's book — it is just a clean, 
crisp, clearly written story of love and adventure— which once begun will not be put down 
until finished. 





'■?- . 

: : 




i . 



Lyrics of the Gray. For Southern Hearts and Southern Homes. By Thomas 
Chalmers Harbaugh. An octavo of 56 pages. Illustrated with portrait of the author and 
published by him. Price, 25 cents. 

This modest volume is filled with beautiful poems appropriate to the occasions that 
they commemorate. Mr Harbaugh "s poetry possesses a ring and eloquence of meter which 
makes it particularly well adapted to songs of this kind, In these lyrics, therefore, we nnd 
him at his best. One of the first contributors whom we appealed to upon assuming the 
editorial management of the Granite State Magazine was this veteran of prose and 
poetry, and while he has already given us some of the most happy of his efforts, we have 
the promise of others along the lines of our work. In this connection we cannot resist the 
temptation to reproduce here three stanzas from this book, while in a future number we 
shall give a poem entire. 


[On one of the battlefields in the Shenandoah Valley are two soldiers' graves. On the head board 
of one Ls inscribed: " A Georgia Soldier;" on the other; " A Maine Volunteer."] 

I found them there together 

With roses sweet between, 
Near by a murmuring river, 

Above them heaven's sheen; 
I heard the winds of summer 

Sing low a sweet refrain, 
Above the boy from Georgia, 

Above the boy from Maine. 

One left his snowy mountains, 

The other left his pines, 
To stand with gallant thousands 

Amid the battle lines; 
But now in peace they slumber, 

In sunshine and in rain — 
One northward came from Georgia, 

One southward marched from Maine. 

No more the battle bugles 

Will tell them they were foes, 
No more the thundrous cannon 

Will break their deep repose; 
The drums that stirred the thousands 

Will never beat again 
To thrill the sons of Georgia, 

To rouse the sons of Maine. 

Heroes Every Child Should Know. Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie. Illustrated 
and decorated by Blanche Ostertag. Cloth, 12mo, 332 pages. Price, $1.25. Published by 
Doubleday & Page, New York. For sale in Manchester by Goodman. 



This book is one of a series, of which six have already been issued, but is complete in 
itself. The idea was a happy one, and the result in every way must meet the commenda- 
tion of the originator. The volume in hand contains sketches of twenty heroes of history 
whose lives are worthy of study by young and old. Especially is this the case when they 
are treated in the interesting manner of the authors called to the assistance of the different 

It is well that all of the heroes selected do not belong to the traditionary past, so that 
we rind with Daniel and David of biblical times, King Alfred and Robin Hood. an^. Wash- 
ington, Lee and Lincoln of our own country. No better present for a boy could be found, 
and the boy will find here a genuine treat. 

The New Visible FOX 

is the latest and only perfect visible Type- 
writer that correctly solves the objections 
that heretofore have alwavs been made 

j^. ^l ^V>> j f^**ss^ writer tnat correctly solves tne onjecuoi 

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llfit^^^^^^^-^^^^^^'^^' ^5i against frontstroke machines. 

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The Fox courts scientific investi- 
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141 Hanover St 

Manchester, N. H. Tel. 309.-12 

General Agents for New Hampshire for the 

Light Running Blind and Visible FOX, and the Low Priced POSTAL, 
The Bsst HIGH AND LOW PRICED Writers in the World 



There are more ?JcCa 11 Pattern«so!d in the United 
States than of any o:hrr make ol patterns, lhisis on 
account of their style, accuracy and simplicity. 

BfcCall'a !Wngazinc( The Queen of Fashion) has 
more subscribers ti.<*n a:.y other Lndies' M.ip zinc. One 
year's subscription 12 r.umbers) co-ts 50 CCM»»«. La*"* 
number, 5 cent*. Every subscriber gets a McCa.1 1 al- 
tera Free. Suj^cr-.e today. $ 

Ixn«!y Atrenf* Wanted. Handsome premiums or 
liberal cash commissi, n. Pattern Cataio £ ue(of 6 o de. 
«i-ns) and Premium Catalogue (shovw.ig 400 pren,.ums) 
••at free. Address THE McCALL CO.. New York. 

"Correct English= 

How to use it." 

A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Use of English. 
Josephine Tlrck Baker. Editor. 

Partial Contents 

Course in Grammar. How to Increase One's Vo- 
cabulary. The Art of Conversation. Shall and Will: 
Should'and Would : How to Use Them Pronunci- 
ations iCenturv Dictionary). Correct English in the 
Home. Correct English in the School What to Say 
and What Not to Say Course in Letter-Writiner and 
Punctuation. Alphabetic List of Abbreviationsd 
Business English for the Business Man Comr»un. 
Words: How to Write Them. Studies in English 

Agents Wanted. 
$1 a Year. Send 10 cents for Single Copy 

Correct English, Evanston, III. 

Granite ^tate J^ag;a$me 

Vol. Ill 

3L .TRontfjlp Publication 

MAY, 1907. 

No. 5. 


Terms:— Per Annum $1.5^ 

Eight Months 1.<K1 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to put it into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly : Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, 

Manchester, N. H, 

Entered as second-class matter, December ai, igo5, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 

the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 

Printed by The Ruemely Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H, 

Cable of Contents 

Reminiscences of Whither. (Illustrated) /. Warren Thyng 185 

Lakor. (Poem) Frauds S. Osgood 194 

The Snowy Albino. (Illustrated) George Waldo Browne 195 

Roaring Krook. (Poem) /. R. Paddock 198 

An Old Town BY THE Sea. (Illustrated) Thomas Bailey Aldrich 201 

The Swords of Grant and Lee. (Poem) Thomas C. Harbaugh 213 

A Few Things we Owe to the Chinese Mary L. D. Ferris 214 

The Merrimack as a Maritim k Way A Staff Contributor 215 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) George Waldo Browne 222 

Edwin Snow * 220 

A Revolutionary Inn 231 

An Hist >ric Fort 232 

Hiterarp HeabeS 

Life of Edward H. Rollins. By James O Lyford. Cloth. 8vo., portrait, gilt 
top, 547 pages. Dana, Estes &: Co., publishers, Boston. Price, $2.50. 

This volume, devoted to the life and character of Hon. Edward H. Rollins, who was 
so long foremost among the political leaders of the state, must of necessity deal largely 
with the politics of his day. For that alone it is valuable to the student of history, and we 
might wish that the author, who is so well situated to throw much light upon what was an 



eventful period of political strife, had given even more attention to this phase of the situ- 
ation. To him who wishes to become more familiar with the work of this political man- 
ager, for thr^e terms member of congress and United States senator, it must prove an 
enduring memorial written by a faithful delineator whi wis intimately acquainted with him 
in his later years of activity. The author in his pref ice says: "There has been no attempt 
to eulogize him. but rather to present to the reader the story of an eventful epoch in New 
Hampshire, with the conviction that the recital of Senator Rollins' part therein will prove 
to be the strongest tribute that can be paid to him." 

The Man Fkom Maine. I'.y 
Frank Carlos Griffith. Cloth, 
i2mo., ten illustrations by A. H. 
Shute, 255 pages. Price, $1.50. 
C. M. Clark Publishing Company. 
Boston. For sale in Manchester 
by Goodman. 

This is a story of a quaint old 
"Down-East" blacksmith who is 
made United States consul in a 
Zululand province. While differ- 
ent from anything in the line of 
humor, different from "Jethro 
Kass," unlike "Josiah Allen's 
Wife," it is a delightful satire in 
which is combined the wit, native 
shrewdness and keen appreciation 
of the situation by an innocent 
abroad greater in some respects 
than Mark Twain's hero of for- 
eign travel. 

The following dialogue between 
the "Man from Maine" and his 
wife. Mnria, when on their voyage 
to Zululand explains itself. They 
had made an inspection of their 
stateroom when he says: 

'Say, Maria, zv/io's goitC to sleep on the top shelf, you or IT 

"Thunder!" Asa exclaimed as he looked their room over, "can we two live in this 
closet? It hain't got a winder bigger 'n a pants button, an if a feller rolled off of that top 
shelf, he'd land in the w ish basin. Say, Maria, who's goin. to sleep on the top shelf, you 
or I?" 

"I don't know for certain who's goin to, but I know for sure who ain't and that's me," 
said Maria. 

"Then I guess its goin' to be me. Jim, s'pase you order in a tac'le and fall." 

"You'll get the hang of it soon," said Jim. "Just stand on the lower one, and swing 
yourself right in." 

"I can manage it some — say, who's smoking? Somebody's smoking strong tobacco. 
Strong tobacco always did make me sick. Gosh, what was that ? Gess she struck a rock. 
Jim, run up to the roof, and look off." 

Granite J>tate JPaga?tne 

Vol. III. 

3 .JKontblp Publication 
JUNE, 1907. 

No. 6. 


Terms:— Per Annum $1.50 

Eight Months 1.00 

Single Copy 15 

To Authors. — The editor respectfully solicits contributions relating to state history, biography and legend 
from those who are in possession of any incidents or narrative of local or general interest. Any one not a regular 
writer, and not situated to put his notes into readable form, is requested to send the rough draft and we will under- 
take to put it into manuscript for the printer. Every article received will be carefully read and returned, if found 

Address plainly: Editor Granite State Magazine, 

No. 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, N. H. 

Entered as second-class matter, December 21, 1905, at the post office at Manchester, New Hampshire, under 

the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 

Printed bv Thk RuemeCY Press, 143 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. 

Cable of Contents; 

The Varney-Ham House. (Illustrated) Lydia A. Stevens 233 

N K\V 1 1 am ps hike P'i » k es is. (Poem) Allen Eastman Cross 240 

Oyster River, Now Durham, N. 1 1., in 1724 Lncien Thompson 241 

Before TH e Storm, (Poem) Adah Louise Sutton 246 

Famous Hoys 247 

Outward Bound (Poem) Nettie Vernon 248 

An Old Town uv ihe Sea. (Illustrated) Thomas Bailey Aldrich 249 

The Father oe American Artillery Mary L. D. Ferris 263 

Thk Brave Commodore. (Poem) /. C. N. 264 

General Sullivan and His Officers 265 

The Shadows Men Follow. (Serial) George Waldo Browne 269 

Til e E ditor's W 1 n 1 iow The Editor 277 

Literary Leaves 281 

Cfje ©oobranger CileS 

By George Waldo Browne 

A Series of Historical Novels devoted to a description of pioneer 
life on the Old New England and Canadian frontiers. Three volumes, 
tall i2mo., in uniform binding. Price, $1.25 each. 

THE WOODRANGER. A Story of the Pioneers of the Debatable Ground. Illus- 
trated by L. J. Bridgman. 312 pp ; $1.25. 


The scene of this book is the tract of country along the Merrimack River claimed by 
the settlers from Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Among the historical characters 
are young John Stark, afterwards famous as General Stark, William Stark, his older 
brother, the Captain under Wolfe at the taking of Quebec, Robert Rogers, later known as 
" Rogers the Ranger," Col. John Goffe, the noted scout and Indian fighter, besides others, 
the MacDonalds, of Glencoe, the McNeils, of Londonderry, and that semi-historic and 
romantic forester, " The Woodranger." It portrays in a picturesque manner the home-life 
of the colonists, their trials and hardships, their sports and adventures in the clearing and 
in the wilderness. 

THE YOUNG GUNBEARER. A Tale of the Neutral Ground, Acadia, and the 
Siege of Louisburg. Illustrated by Louis Meynell. 

THE HERO OF THE HILLS. A Tale of the Captive Ground, St. Francis, and 
Life in the Pioneer's Home, and in the Northern Wilderness. Illustrated by Henry W. 

In theirquality, make-up and general appearance The Woodranger Tales are the 
equal to any of the $1.50 books. We will give you the choice of any one of them and 
send the Granite State Magazine one year for $2.00, with 15 cents for postage on book* 

64 Hanover Street. . Manchester, N. H. 

C Cfjornbgfee, Sttornep-aMLato 

By Herbert Ik win Goss 

The C. M. Clark Publishing Company of lioston announces for publication in June a 
book which promises to be of uncommon interest to New Hampshire people, both at home 
and abroad. With an historical setting, writttn in the first person, it partakes of an auto- 
biography without the dry details so ofien given peisonal narratives ' The descriptions of 
the White Mountains in nicety of touch and fineness of poitra)al could only have been 
made by one who was familiar with them and who had a keen appreciation of their 
grandeur and attractions. 

Mr. Goss, a Vermonter by birth, took up his residence in Berlin, \. H., in 1888, and is 
one of the ablest and best-known lawyers of the norili country. In 1894 he was elected 
solicitor of Coos county and was twice re-elected. In 1903 he was elected representative 
to the state legislature. 

Ever active in the line of progress and industrial matters, he has been prominently 
identified with the interests and growth of Bt rlin, and is looked upon as one of her most 
substantial citizens. The interest in the literary venture of Mr. Goss is shown by the large 
number of advance orders which the publishers have received. There will be two editions, 
one in plain cloth for the general trade at $1.50 a copy, and what is to be known as the 
Portrait Edition, containing seventy portraits of prominent New Hampshire men, which 
will sell for $3-00 

Among the portraits of prominent men and women are to be mentioned, Jacob Hen- 
ton, ex-member of congress, Ossian Ray, ex-member of congress, Chester B. Jordan, ex- 
governor of New Hampshire, George A. Bingham, judge of supreme court, Hon. Harry 
Bingham, A. S. Batchellor, William II, Mitchell, Moses A. Hastings, Herbert I. Goss, Lewis 
W. Clark, Major Robert Rogers, Passaconaway, Isabella Pillsbury. 

The New Visible FOX 

is the latest and only perfect visible Type- 
writer that correctly solves the objections 
that heretofore have always been made 
against fronistroke machines. 

Key Tension, 2 1-2 ounces; Aluminum 
Key Levers: Bali-Bearing Carriage ; Two- 
Color Ribbon; Interchangeable Carriage; 
Tabulator Line Lock. 

The Fox courts scientific investi- 
gation by typewriter critics, 


141 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. Tel. 309-12. 

General Agents for New Hampshire for the 

Light Running Blind and Visible FOX, and the Low Priced POSTAL, 
The Best HIGH AND LOW PRICED Writers in the World 




beautifully illustrated, good stone* 
and articles eb»ut California 
and all the far V/c*L 


a monthly publication devoted 
to th^ farming kteretU of the 


a book of 75 paje*. containing 
120 colored photograph* of 
picture*: ue spots ia California 
and Oregon. 

Total . . . 


a year 


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Cut out this advertisement 
and «end with $130 to 



Books for Sale 

Early Records of Derryfield 
now Manchester, N. H.. 

Vol. I, 1751-1782, Compiled 
and edited by George Waldo 
Browne. Cloth, gilt top, oc- 
tavo, deckle edge,. 400 pp.. 
map and illustrations. Price 

Vol. II, 1782-1800. Compiled 
and edited by George Waldo 
Browne, uniform with Vol. I. 

Price §2.50. 

For sale by the 

Granite State PuK Co. 

64 Hanover St., Manchester, N. H. 


Reasonably Reasonable 

We can guarantee you SATISFACTION. 

Unreasonably Unreasonable 

We'can guarantee to give you as little cause for 
.; DISSATISFACTION as any one. 

'"' . The Babbitt Co., 


72i Beech St., -*" 277 Main St.. 159 Mer-ri.yi* ?i >t. 


Tel. 524-12 Tel- 447-12. '_ - t -; ,Tel. 688-5 

Photo-Engraving, Printing, 
Book Binding. 


Rumford Printing Co., Concord, N. H. 

Photo-Engravers for the Granite State Magazine. 


We want local and general agents in every town in the state to 

canvass for the Graxite State Magazine. Liberal cash 

commission or salary paid. Write at once. 

The Granite State Magazine, 64 Hanover Street, Manchester, N. H.